What She Can't Say
by The Wise Duck
Summary: Post STD - Continuation of 'As It Was In The Beginning'. Kim and Ron start their relationship while their lives and the rest of the world goes on. But change brings challenges; social, professional, personal. How will they deal with it?
1. Prom Night

Kim Possible and all the characters contained within are the sole property of Disney.

A/N: In my view of the Kim Possible universe, based on a careful examination of clues and information gleaned by taking tapes of all the episodes in a pile on the floor and danced over while intoning verses from Monty Python songs, I have come to several conclusions:

So the Drama was the 'Junior Prom', Kim and Ron are coming up on their seventeenth birthdays; they still have their 'Senior' year to complete at Middleton High.

Face it; Kim's comment to the Ninja's while protecting Nakasumi San was that her move won 'the Regionals'. For Kim, the Nationals _HAVE_ to be in the future somewhere if not the World cheerleading competitions. Next, Seasons One had twenty-one episodes and Season Two had twenty-nine while 'Season Three' only had thirteen (plus StD), some of which have yet to air. That's at least half a school year that we haven't seen! (Try checking under the carpet Martha).

But what about some of those other clues. Well, "Car Trouble' was in Season Two. This 'Right of Passage' normally occurs around fifteen and a half. Giving time for Drivers Training and all, the fact that it's the fifth episode of Season Two and eight episodes before A Sitch in Time (see below) lends credence to the fact that she and Ron are in that envelope of fifteen and a half/sixteen.

Kim and Ron start a new school year in A Sitch in Time, which is the thirteenth episode of Second Two, shows where approximately the chronological order of the school year should fall and that they are in their Junior year through the period ending with StD.

REGARDLESS! There needs to be at least one year of Kim/Ron as a teenage couple together in High School! The world will accept no less.

Thankyouverymuch.

And now back to our previous scheduled story.

* * *

She slowly came awake, giving an involuntary groan as she did so. During the night, her neck and back had stiffened up considerably letting her know that actual movement was not something to look forward too. 

Prying her eyelids open, she saw her clock on the nightstand. It was almost nine. That in itself was an indication of just how fatigued she was.

With a wince, Kim slowly pushed herself over onto her back, actually opening her mouth in a silent crying out as pain shot through _everything _in the rear from her head, down her spine and neck and across to her right shoulder. Shego had missed _her_ with that plasma blast but blown the wall she had been intending to rebound off of. The force of the blast had thrown her back onto the central bridge where she had literally crash landed on her back, shoulders, neck _and_ the rear of her head. Only the force field of the battle suit had kept her from instant unconsciousness let alone a broken neck or fractured skull. She'd then 'bounced' from the force of the impact onto her right shoulder (that felt as if she _should_ have dislocated it) where she 'bounced' again to finally land on her chest (parts of it was just turning a lovely shade of yellow when she went to bed).

The open mouth then snapped closed to gritted teeth as she waited for the pain to pass. She gingerly reached back and touched the sore spots (wincing again as she did so). After several moments of this self-abuse, she allowed herself to collapse and tried to relax until it passed.

She did glance sideways at her other nightstand and grunted to herself. Sure enough, there was a glass of water and a hospital type paper pill cup. Her Mother must have come in at some point and left her something to try to help her get through the worst of it.

But she hated drugs (especially potentially addicting pain meds) and she would try anything to go without them first. She adamantly reserved them for only when her Mother or another Doctor told her that she _had_ to take them or they were truly a last resort for her to be able to even remotely function. She did mentally smile because her Mom knew that but provided them anyway knowing from experience just how banged and bruised she was going to be this morning. That did not however, change the way she felt about them or how she would deal with her pain initially.

It did bring a smile to Kim's face with memories of just how her parents reacted to their return home from Bueno Nacho Headquarters the previous evening—

* * *

Ron brought the speed down on his now rocket-powered scooter as they came back into the periphery on Middleton having swung wide round on the Interstate to avoid the center of town. In minutes they were coming into their neighborhood, looking about at the additional smoke, flames and wreckage caused by the Diablo toys when reactivated by Drakken's Command Signal from his Master Tower at Bueno Nacho Headquarters. 

"Oh man," Ron breathed. "Who would of thought—? Everybody must have had one of those little monsters."

As she had her arms around him to stay on the scooter, Kim just hugged him tighter in response. She was unable to find words at the moment, her thoughts too tied up in her own emotions to give him an answer.

_Yes,_ Kim said to herself, _who would of thought a lot of things. Who would of thought that Drakken would at last come up with a scheme that almost allowed him to take over the world? Who would of thought that he would have been able to come up with something which would be my one 'great weakness', making me blind to all else in my desire to be like all the other girls, wrapping me around his finger with my need to have a boyfriend to call my own, making me his puppet by offering me access to the highest levels of 'The Food Chain', making me his slave by giving me a 'boy' that I wanted to kiss so badly, that I was almost ready to do anything, even—even go as low as Bonnie in order to do it, and that 'boy' wasn't even real but a damn Synthadrone!_

Kim broke off her thoughts to watch another smashed house go by. The family was setting up camping equipment on the front lawn. At the roar of the scooter they looked up—

Then they were out in the street as the two of them passed, joyfully jumping up and down, calling her name, waving frantically, blowing kisses.

Kim had to turn her head away in embarrassment. _No please! Don't! I just did it because it had to be done. _She felt a rush of blood to her cheeks and. And her eyes flashed open in horror as she thought, _my name, just my name. Nothing about him! Nothing about what he did. It's like they don't even know he exists._ She craned her head around, ready to shout out through the sudden pain in her soul but their speed had already taken them away.

Kim gritted her teeth and crushed herself tightly against him. _Never again! Never again will a villain like Drakken or a grateful family that does not know your name Ron Stoppable. I promise you that. I PROMISE you!_

Then they were in their neighborhood. Without asking, Ron took her directly home. Both of their eyes widened to find a sea of trucks in her street running up into her driveway and an army of carpenters busy with nail guns and roofers replacing tiles.

In wonder Kim looked about as she got off the scooter to see her Father standing in the driveway taking to—

"Mr. Stewart the Contractor?"

That had to hold for a moment as her Father came over. He had his usual big smile on his face (which at times could be almost as goofy as Ron's) and his "Ahh, there's my Kimmy Cub," was it's normal perky self. But this time there was a darker, closer look to his eyes. Mr. Possible simply took her into his long arms for a quick hug and she _knew_ the source of his discomfort. He considered his own involvement in this, the burden and responsibility he personally felt for the living metal in the Diablo's, and the danger that had come so close to his family that he could not just shrug it off with his normal light-hearted lack of concern. Kim could _feel_ him trembling and that his hug was just a little longer, a little harder than any he had given her in a long, long time.

When her Dad finally released her, the big Contractor could finally hold out a hand for her to shake, "Miss Possible, at last I get to thank you for the time you saved my daughter when she was choking on that toy in the preschool you were talking at. It's been a long time, but I think this will be worth the wait."

Kim tuned her head away and gave him a wave of her hand. "Hey, that was no big."

Her Dad smiled. "That may be My Dear, but it's getting us the first fixed house in Middleton. They promise the work will be done within the hour."

Kim felt a moment of concern. "Dad, can I get into my room?"

Her Dad gave her a look. "Well, yes. You'd just have to go in through the rear of the house. Why?"

Kim felt her anxiety start to build. "I'd better tell you and Mom together." She could feel both her Dad's and Ron's eyes on her but she didn't say anything more. She led them around and into the house where they found her Mother on the phone, talking to the hospital, the Red Cross and the Mutual Aid Services, determining if there was any need for her skills in Middleton or anywhere in the Tri Cities area.

Her Mother was just hanging up the phone when they came in. As Mrs. Possible shot up out of her chair, her face when through all the contortions of a Mother who did not know if her daughter, who was always going into harms way, would come back every time in one piece.

And stopped herself.

Mrs. Possible had always made it a point to make her daughters return as routine and normal as she could lest she give Kim _any_ idea of what times like this did to her heart and soul. So she immediately put on her Doctor face and—

"Damage report?"

Her daughter smiled ruefully and reached back to gingerly touch—"the back of my head to mid back, back of right shoulder, chest, left upper arm. Nothing real bad, just painful."

Her Mom nodded once and looked immediately to Ron. "And you?"

Ron smiled. "Just some bumps and bruises Mrs. Dr P. No prob."

Kim looked at him. "Ron! I saw the drone throw you bodily into a wall and you didn't have a battle suit to protect you."

Ron shrugged. "So I'll wont have to wear a mission shirt for the next couple of weeks as my skin will be all black and blue anyway. Save on the laundry bill."

Kim's Mom gave him a no nonsense look. "Anything broken?"

Ron looked her right in the eye when replying. "No Ma'am."

Mrs. Possible accepted that with a nod. She then looked between the two of them. "And Eric? Is he okay?"

That caused the two teens to exchange a look that was not lost on the good Doctor.

"Okay," Mrs. Possible asked in the best 'I want the truth' Mother's tone/look, "what's going on with Eric?"

Kim looked first to her Father, then back to her Mother. She then dropped her head in almost shamed embarrassment. "Eric wasn't what he seemed. He—he wasn't even human." With eyes on the edge of tears her head came back up to face her parents shocked looks. "Eric was a Syntho-Drone created by Drakken. Created for the express purpose of playing me for a fool. Created to make me fall for him and muddle my mind to the point where I wouldn't be able to figure out and foil his latest scheme." Her head dropped again as a single tear rolled down her cheeks. "It worked too."

Kim's Mom brought a shocked hand to her mouth "oh "Kimmy," was all she could manage to say.

Kim's gave a single 'sniff' before her eyes suddenly flew wide as if an electric current had touched her. Those eyes then darted down to her elbow where she found Ron's hand gently touching her, providing her comfort, support, and strength. Her eyes came up to meet his and his smile was there as well, reminding her of just why they were there at that particular moment.

"It's okay," Kim said firmly as she slewed her head back around to her parents, her eyes now sparkling bright, her smile exploding across her face, "it's no big. It's over, We—" and she looked back at Ron, her eyes still glowing, "no. I beat Shego, Ron and Rufus beat Eric and then Ron, _you_" and she forced the emphasis at him with her eyes, "beat Drakken.

Kim could tell that both of her parents were staring at him and he was finding those gazes more uncomfortable than her own. She held him with her own warm look just a moment longer, gathering her own strength inside before looking back to her parents.

"So," Kim breathed, "Mom, I really, really need your help. We have enough time, barely, if we hurry, to get back to the Prom."

That was obviously the _last_ thing any of those around her expected to hear. Her Dad scowled, her Mom caught her breath; Ron just goggled. And that was when Kim dropped the other shoe, by deftly reaching around and firmly taking the hand that had her elbow in her hand and drawing it over her heart to where she could cover it with both of hers as she managed to get out through her slightly trembling voice, "because my Boyfriend here and I really need to put in an appearance there tonight."

* * *

Her face spread in a gentle, genuine smile in the morning light as the memories of the previous evening continued to spill through her. Her Mother had of course become a whirlwind of efficiency, practically throwing her bodily into the shower, quickly mending the major rips in her dress (it was decided to let the charred hem of her dress be, nothing short of a miracle could repair it, and as it was, it was kind of a badge of honor for her), wrapping the gashes on her left arm, (in a flesh colored bandage that wouldn't be overly visible in her sleeveless dress) helping her put her hair back up (as gently as possible considering how sore the back of her head was) and helping with makeup, (including spots where major bruising was already evident). 

Ron had apparently been waiting for her for several minutes when Kim finally came down. Her Dad was standing beside him and she had to wonder if he hadn't given him the 'Black Hole Deep' speech again. Dad had taken several pictures of the two of them in the front hall and as he had them pose, she caught sight of her Mom, standing, looking first at them, then at one of the pictures on the wall next to the stairs.

Kim swore there were tears in her Mothers eyes.

Dad had even driven them back to the gym to help them save time. The rest of the evening had been—

* * *

The last dance was over, the gym was clearing. But to them, standing still in the center, time was standing still in the way that only comes with the love that is encountered in a deep kiss between two who have only just found what they have been looking for, for a very long time. 

When it was finally broken, and the faces came down to where their foreheads rested against each others, the lingering effects which swirled, shot, and cascaded through their senses and selves left them overwhelmed, breathless and weak. The smiles, though trembling, were heartfelt, and the eyes bored into each other with an intensity that neither had ever known.

Finally, as if by some unspoken word, they turned, his arm going around her shoulder as hers went around his waist, the other hands held tightly in front of them, her head slipping sideways over onto his shoulder. They then walked out of the hall, as silently as they had walked in. But instead of the fear and hesitation in expectation of all the eyes that would be watching their entrance, their whole world now was simply on the one right next to them as they walked out and the calls and whistles and smattering of applause as they exited was as lost to them as the distant sound of thunder on a summers night.

Eventually, the cool air outside revived her a little and with a shock, Kim realized that she had no clear memory of the past hours. It was all of sensations, feelings, desires. She knew that the DJ must have played music other than slow dances but she remember nothing but their arms around each other, the thrill of his hands running up and down her back, touching the bare skin of her neck under her hair. Surely at some point they must have left the dance floor. Did she ever talk to Monique? She didn't remember sipping any punch or _anything_.

_What time is it?_ and Kim forced herself to repeat it out loud.

Ron took a glance at his watch. "Just after eleven thirty."

Kim stopped in frozen horror, his momentum pulling them apart. "Oh my God!" she uttered in despair. "I am soo dead! We said we'd be home by now!"

He reached out and gently pulled her along. "We are on our way. We will be at your house in eight minutes if we walk at a good pace. All things considered, if your parents want to steam, they can blame the Ronster because I'm the one with the watch and I'm the one who promised to have you home on time."

Still, butterflies of worry filled her stomach, but Kim allowed herself to take his lead and together they walked, hand in hand down the dark streets.

Their walk was initially in silence but there was so much that Kim wanted to say, so much that she _had_ to say, but she had no idea where or how to begin. And there was just as much that she wanted, she _needed_ to hear from him. For as wonderful as this evening was, it was so new and in reality, so unexpected. For after having been friends for so very long, it was going to take some very serious readjusting to get use to.

And—_ for us as friends and for me to even be able to think of him in a _romantic_ way. All night long, I've been saying to myself, Ron, I l-l lov-, I can't even get the entire word out, and I don't know if that because it's just so new or because it _scares_ me. The feeling is so intense and I don't know if its because its suppose to be that way or if it's because of the way its come about. I mean, is it really l-l-lo v. . . aarrggg! This is not good. Anyway, is it really that, or is it something else? Am I on the rebound from Eric? Feeling shamed because he wasn't even human, guilty because Drakken sucked me into his plan and terribly, terribly grateful to Ron because he pulled me out of it, got my head together and really pulled his weight at the end in defeating the plot?_

Kim closed her eyes a moment and felt his hand in hers. She then opened them again and with a slight turn of her head, gave him a sidelong glance.

Kim found his eyes, warm and, and loving, gazing at her. And his hand squeezed hers gently.

_No,"_ she said firmly to herself. _I can't have these doubts. What I felt when he said those words in the storeroom, what I saw when the scales were at last stripped from my eyes as Drakken, Shego and their goons were loaded in that wagon, those were real. And I can not doubt those feelings we had at that moment when we came together in that first dance anymore than I can turn away from what I see in those eyes of his right now. He loves me. I know he does. And—_

And she had to stop and bring one hand up to her eyes and sudden tears started to trickle from them. Instantly Ron had his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his voice tender, full of concern. "KP, what is it? What's wrong?"

He was surprised when a choked chuckle came up from under the covering hand. "Nothing is wrong," Kim said as she pulled the hand down and brought her face up; blinking at him with shining, tear stained eyes. "It's all just a little overwhelming I guess," she said softly. "I know this whole thing with this dance was my idea but the fact is that you started it by opening your mouth in that room and now we're together and the fact is that the whole thing is more than a little confusing—"

"Oh KP," he said breathlessly, bending his head down to lay his forehead against hers, pulling her tighter against him as he did so. "I know exactly what you mean. If it helps at all for you to know that I have been absolutely terrified all evening long."

She gave him a rueful smile. "Ron, your always terrified."

He smiled back and said blandly. "Of course. So its no big after all."

She rapped him in the chest. "But I'm not use to it. Nor the confusion, uncertainty, nervousness or plain fear."

That made his face pale slightly and drop his eyes to look deeply into hers. "Does the idea of us being together upset you that much?"

She gave him a trembling smile. "It's not the drama of us being together that gives me those emotions. It's the pure massive power of my emotions towards you and our being together that gives me all those other feelings that I'm having trouble dealing with."

The hand that had been over her eyes came out to cup the side of his face as she said, "what I'm feeling for you Ronald is so powerful, that it is giving me confusion, uncertainty, nervousness and yes, plain fear. And the plain fear Ron, is that I may not be able to do it justice in being able to tell you just how much you mean to me—" Kim's voice caught and her eyes closed as if in pain. They opened again and more tears squeezed out of her eyes.

"Ron, this just happened! I don't know if this is too early or too new or what. I'm confused and more than a little lost! I don't know if this should be easy or hard. But right now this is so new, so intense, that it _hurts_ and I can't even say it to myself within the confines of my own head. Ron, I want to tell you that I l—" and her mouth hung open on that letter as her head bobbed forward trying to get the rest of the word _out_—

But nothing would come.

Kim snapped her mouth to a tight teeth-gritted grimace and squeezed her eyes shut tight with a sharp intake of breath that announce that she was ready to cry. Her mouth came open with a tiny whimpered "damnit."

Kim didn't get any further. For Ron pulled her bodily into him, burying her face into his neck, one hand pressing her directly into him by running up and down her spine while the other tenderly ran fingertips though her hair as his lips caressed her ear even as he spoke directly into it and her being.

"Shussh, peace, hush my beautiful lady. Nothing more needs to be said. For your passion is well known to me, your best friend for life. You have always been one for action more than words at times but you have always had the right words when the time came. So I can wait for as long as you need for I will be here for as long as you need. I can tell you now with all my heart that I do indeed love you, that I have a friend since we first met. And I—" And he had to stop.

After a moment, she tried to pull back but he held her firm. "No," he told her, "your not going anywhere. It is difficult for me to admit this but I will." She stopped her resistance and relaxed back into his arms, realizing that he needed time.

Finally. "I can't say when I realized that it had happened. It just did." She was a little shocked to hear the guilt in his voice. This time Kim forcibly pulled her head back, wanting, _needing_ to see his face, his eyes. She saw the same guilt there as well. But she saw total honesty, as well as something else, relief, and love.

"I held it back because I was so scared of destroying our friendship. I was more than willing to sacrifice everything I felt for that and more." Ron stopped and the guilt on his face increased. "Even when it made me so angry, which it did. And for that, I need to apologize to you KP, for that night in my tree house—"

"No!" she started—

"Yes!" he snapped at her with a vehemence that stopped her. And she instantly wondered about all the other boys she had dated and what all of them had done to him.

Ron saw her look and a smile spread across his face as if guessing her thoughts. "It's okay, KP. All those others I truly wanted you to be happy with as I hoped that I could have been happy with Zita had that worked out or had I known that Tara had been interested in me. But what happened here has been fairly recent. I don't know if it was that _I_ couldn't admit it to myself until just recently or what. But it happened," and he dropped his head to increase the power of his eyes, "and now I'm glad its happened. For I was so very scared of completely ruining what we had. Now I hope we can make it so much better."

He suddenly released his hold on her to take her face in both of his hands, bringing her eyes very close to his. "You may not be able to say the words, but I can feel the strength of your feelings. You can't say that you love me, but I _know_ that you do, and Kimberly Anne, please—know that I love you too."

She stood in open mouth awe of him, her hands gripping his wrists in a death clench, his words, the emotions, and expression on his face both tearing and healing herself at the same time.

"Oh Ron!" she wailed in the moment before she threw herself at him with such force that it almost sent them both tumbling toward the ground.

"Whoa" "EEAAKK" as they both scrambled to get their feet under them, his natural clumsiness assisted by her unaccustomed high heels. Only by dropping into a low combat crouch and grabbing him by his extra wide baby blue lapels was she able to get her center of gravity set and his rescued.

Their eyes met warily and they simply said, "Home?" "Home."

Another couple of minutes fast walk and—

Kim stopped with her shoulders slumping, a loud groan escaping her lips.

Where the block in front of her house had been filled before with construction trucks, it was now wall to wall with news vans.

Ron was looking at it aghast and said with horror, "so much for a quiet good bye kiss on the front step."

She hung her head and felt a tiny part of a perfect evening die. Then, pulling herself back upright, she turned to him, "lets just say good night right here. There's no way I'm talking to those idiots tonight. I'm going to circle the block and come in through the Stevens back yard."

Kim turned and wrapped her arms around Ron's neck, his going around her waist. "You know," she said softly, her deep emerald eyes piercing him, "I can't say anything about what this night means to me. Not yet anyway. I promise you though, someday, very soon, I will tell you everything you want and need to hear and more and I'm also telling you right now, flat out, that I want you as my one and only steady and serious boyfriend with everything that implies." She then kissed him deeply. It was returned in kind.

They were breathless and flushed when they parted. "I'll call you tomorrow," she promised. "But it will be at least afternoon by the time I help finish getting the house picked up."

Ron nodded. "I can't wait," he grinned.

"Neither can I," she breathed back at him.

* * *

Her Dad of course had been waiting up but she had been totally honest with him (almost) and he had seen the news vans. As Kim had been only a little over a half hour late by the time she came in the back patio door, he settled for a stiff warning (with a grin barely hidden behind it). 

Her Mother had risen to check the dressing on the gashes in her arm and had not so subtlety probed her on how the evening went. Kim could tell that her Mom was deeply affected (to the point where she was in fact startled, she had no idea that her Mom had been pulling so hard for her and Ron to get together) and she ended up revealing more to her that she thought she would just to increase her Moms joy.

Kim was more than exhausted when her head finally hit the pillow but there was way too many other things going on in her head/heart/body for her to readily find sleep. Memories, sensations, and feelings stored up over the course of the evening raced through her and a driving _need_ demanded attention, repeated attention, and even here, the results were startling in their intensity, more than Josh had inspired, more than even Eric (pre Syntho-Drone Eric) had ever aroused, she seeing _him_ now in her minds eye even as she was reaching heights never before achieved by her.

Finally, sated, beyond exhaustion, she drifted off to sleep, holding Panda-roo to her chest as she did so (wishing that it was _him_), looking forward to dreams of a certain freckled faced young man.

Now in the morning light, as part of her had to wonder if it had to be a dream but at the same time it was all too real to her and her wonder and thankfulness for it all brought her right back to the edge of tears. Kim had her best friend for her Boyfriend with the definite promise of more and better to come. He loved her; she knew how she felt for him if it wasn't so _damn _strong that it left her tongue-tied and stumbling.

Well, it was time to get up. She had to call Monique and try to find out just what else had happened last night at the dance. She had those stupid reporters to face.

And then she had a very special young man to call.

* * *

Waiting is forever. 

Ron had never been a very good waiter, especially when he was as wound and excited as he was right now.

He had thought that his victory, his triumph over Drakken had been the high point of his life. Boy it didn't even hold a candle compared to what had happened during the remainder of the previous evening. He had been confused when she had dragged him back to her house. He had felt concerned for her when she'd told her parents what had happened and just a little bit nervous when he's tried to support her in front of them by taking her by the elbow. When she had announced her intentions of going back to the Prom he had been shocked.

When she had looked at him with those huge emerald eyes, taken his hand in both of hers, called him her Boyfriend and asked him to come with her—

When he'd shown back up at the Possible house to pick her up, he'd had another talk with her Dad. But it was not the Black Hole Deep one he was expecting and in fact to a certain extent it left him even more shaken and moved than that one had. Thankfully she had not asked about it because he did not think it would be wise for him to tell Kim just what it was that he and her Dad had discussed.

Other than that first kiss, the Prom itself was a blur of emotions so intense that he never thought he would sort them out. He remembered being hugged by Monique at some point and Mr. Barkin shaking him hand and congratulating him for stopping the Diablo's along with making a very sincere comment on Kim's beauty and how lucky he was but other than that, it was all a haze.

The walk home however he remember clearly and he felt more than a little guilty for Kim's condition. She was such a person of incredible feeling and passion in everything she did and he, while he knew it wasn't really his fault, he just felt _bad_ at being the cause of her uneasiness and discomfort. He had meant everything he had said to her, about being sorry, about everything he had gone through, about everything he'd been worried about—

And about how much he loved her.

Her response left him no doubt (not that he had any in the first place from the moment she took his hand outside the ruins of Bueno Nacho Headquarters) just how much she loved him.

He did not want to leave her when they parted. He already wished that they could sleep together (even platonically). Both of his parents were still up and breathlessly hung on every word (they had been out when he had hurriedly changed into his Dad's tux prior to returning to Kim's). Both had hugged him from both fear and joy, his Father heaping him with words of praise as a man, his Mother crying for fear and yet joy that it was getting to be time where her son might be getting ready to leave the nest.

Sleep of course would not come. Emotions were too charged and feelings where too lit up. He was both more than embarrassed and shocked by his greatest need. Embarrassed by the visions of her that drove him to it, shocked by the incredible intensity of the releases, unlike anything he had ever experienced previously.

He had no memory if he actually slept at all or not. He did know that by morning, he was definitely aware that the drone had body slammed him into a wall (not to mention what Shego did to him which he had totally forgotten about until he started to loose his voice shortly after sunup).

So now Ron was waiting, seemingly forever for his brand new steady, one and only girlfriend to call and he could hardly talk.

_I would say the world is cruel to me. But after last night, I know the world will never be cruel again. As long as I have Kim's love, the world will be a good place to live._

Ron jumped as his cell rang. He reached. The number was Kim's.

"Hi" he croaked.

"Ron," her surprised voice came back in shock, "what happened?"

"I didn't get a chance to tell you, but after Eric shocked you out, Shego clotheslined me and I'm afraid that I'm paying the price for it now."

"Well, you shouldn't talk then. Um . . ."

"I got an idea, we'll text message."

"Done!"

Kim:----- how does the rest of you feel?

Ron:----- like my butt got kicked by a synthadrone. hardly got any sleep. but that's your fault. spent all night thinking about you.

Kim:----- same right back at you. and i don't think there isn't any part of me that isn't stiff or sore this morning. i'm just hoping that shego is worse. and when i did sleep, i had some very pleasant dreams about a certain boy that i have grown very fond of.

Ron:----- well, i promise to have like dreams about a very pretty redhead when i manage to go to sleep. did you take care of the reporters?

Kim:----- yes, gave them their interviews and answered questions. and got quite upset. realized that you should have been there! this was as much your victory as mine. from now on, we will be shoulder to shoulder as team possible or i will create some drama!

Ron:----- it's no big kim; don't get your crop top in a twist.

Kim:----- it is to me ron! i mean for us to be a team in every sense of the word. it's that important to me!

Ron:----- well, if it's that important to you, it's that important to me. heard from monique?

Kim:----- yes, she's shredding the furniture over us she's so excited and apparently we totally missed bonnie having a total meltdown. i'm more than a little embarrassed because i don't even remember talking to her at all last night. was i that out of it? anyway, she wants to meet at the mall for lunch. are you up for that?

Ron:----- sure, i'll just whisper lots and let my expressive eyebrows do the rest. when should i pick you up?

Kim:----- might as well come on over now so my mom can engulf you. she is absolutely over the top over this. and i thought i was bouncing off the walls.

Ron:----- you were bouncing off the walls, until shego blew them up from under you. be right over.

Kim:----- ron?

Ron:----- yes?

Kim:----- this text thing was a really good idea. you want to know why?"

Ron:----- why?

Kim:----- because this way, it's easier for me to say things that are too difficult for me to say otherwise—things like, ron—i love you—i love you very much.

Ron:----- and i love you kim, with all my heart. be right over to show it.

Kim:----- cant wait.

* * *

Once again his knees were knocking, his mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty, for they were about to enter that ultimate symbol of the American teenage bastion of status and peerage— 

THE MALL. Where _everybody_ went to see and be seen, to hang, gossip and _chill_ with their buds, posse or whatever.

Ron of course, as a certified looser, had only been there, on occasion, with his Mom, to do looser things like shop for school clothes, books, shoes, things like that.

Now, with his heart in his mouth, Ron was walking across the parking lot with someone who was considered a mall ACE!

"Would you relax," Kim said to him, shaking the hand holding hers at the same time, "you're crushing my fingers. This can not be any worse than walking into that gym last night and you have to know that I am more than proud and happy to be here with you."

Ron creased his face in a sheepish smile. "You may say that," he said in a strained whisper, "but I remember all too well, all the 'dates' we had where you insisted that we we're there as 'just friends' and nothing more. I'm afraid that the habit is a little hard to break."

Kim stopped them dead in the parking lot, pulling him to face her, her loose hand snapping up to cup his cheek as she said, "but on 'those' dates, I would never do this" and she kissed him deeply.

When she released him, Ron was red cheeked and had a hard time meeting her eyes. Kim pulled his face where she could grab and hold his eyes in hers. "I absolutely _want_ every single teen in Middleton to know that we are a couple, a total complete hand-holding, arms around waists, lip-locking, tonsil-hockey playing couple because I am damn proud of you, of who you are, of what you are and what you do to and for me. And the sooner you realize that—" and now Kim gave him a mischievous, half seductive smile, "the more fun you will definitely be in for."

Ron was looking at her in kind of a half shocked way. But then he shook his head and gave her a shrug and a goofy smile.

"Now come on, Monique's waiting." And once again, dragging him by one hand, Kim took him into the mall.

It took until they were through the doors for her words to really hit him. _She's like, totally serious. This is like, the real thing. This is like, the chance to really act like a really cool guy walking with a really cool, super beautiful girl, which of course, there is no girl in existence who is cooler or more beautiful than she is. But who do I do this without looking like a looser?"_

Ron wracked his mind for a moment, like a shot out of the blue it hit him, and he was both amazed and appalled that _that_ memory was the one that came to him. Her and Mankey walking through this very mall one time when he was in here shopping with his Mom. But they had been the epitome of cool and it had looked like it would feel soooo good.

He released her hand and slipped his arm around her waist which was bared by her crop top, half his fingers kneading the soft skin, his pinky inserting itself into the belt loop on her pants, locking his arm into position. Kim gave him a sudden surprised look followed by a flashing brilliant smile. She darted in and pecked him on the nose, growling happily, "now your getting the idea," as she dug her hips into his, throwing her arm around his shoulders and neck, running her fingers through his blond hair.

Ron savored the sensations; unlike anything he's ever had. Sure, his Mom had done things like that to him, but this was a girlfriend, this was Kim running her hands through his hair and there could be no comparison.

"You know KP, you really should consider hiring yourself out as a scalp masseuse," he whispered with a smile.

Kim gave him an evil grin back. "You should try my full body massage."

Ron's eyes got wide as his face burned red.

"Aahhh—"

"I'm teasing," she giggled, hugging him to her.

They were coming into the central court area and he saw groups and groups of eyes swinging to look at them. At the same time, Kim's hand came out of his hair and her arm dropped to tightly go around his back, her hand anchoring under his arm, her pulling herself as tightly to him as she could manage.

Ron pulled her to him just as tightly and met the eyes with his. And strangely enough, the apprehension didn't come. Ron felt Kim's love and support like a deep, warm fire next to him that blew away any chance of anything bad coming toward them from beyond.

Yes, he saw dark looks in some girl's eyes, but those same girls were the ones who always had those looks, be it here, at school or even on the streets. They had their problems, their petty jealousies with Kim for whatever reason and nothing would ever change that.

And there were still the boys who looked at him with laughter, disgust, and scorn. Well, now he could feel pity for them, for they had their looser girlfriends who would dump them in six weeks for some other guy who maybe had a car or might have scored the winning goal in the game that week.

At the same time, Ron was definitely surprised at the large number of smiles, little nods and waves that he saw, some of which came from the most unexpected people. He knew he would never really belong, but maybe now, at least in his senior year, things might go a little bit easier for him.

They'd made the turn toward the food court and he heard Kim snort. "What?" he asked.

"Didn't see Bonnie, only a couple of her posse and they looked really out of sorts. Wonder if something happened last night that we didn't hear about. Hope Monique knows."

They were coming into the food court where the spotted Monique in front of the mini Bueno Nacho booth. Monique looked up just as they approached and _launched_ herself at them.

"YOU GUYS, Yoooo!" Monique shrieked as she tried to hug them both. All she managed to do was squeeze Rufus awake in Ron's shirt pocket, the mole rat popping out like a jack-on-the-box.

"Yikes!"

Monique jumped back, a look of contrite apology on her face, "sorry Rufus," she squeaked.

Ron put his hands on his hips. "I think that's worth a grande as payment Monique."

Monique gave him a look, then pointed a finger. "For him maybe, but not for you—"

Ron crossed his arms. "But as his official—"

"No Ron. That's final."

He held her with a hard look for a moment, then gave her a broad smile. "Lady drives a hard deal. Got to respect that."

Monique's face fell. She looked to Kim, still pointing at him. "Did I hear that right? Him giving up without a long whining argument?"

Kim reached over and hugged his shoulders. "All it took," she said with a broad smile, "was a little respect from a defeated supervillian."

And Ron put his arm around Kim's waist whispering, "finding that the perfect girl loves me might also have something to do with it."

"OOHHH!" Monique cooed and she actually did a little dance in front of them. "You two just can't _believe_ how good that sounds to my ears."

Kim gave her a rueful look. "And I can't believe that I have no memory of last night."

Monique looked at her. "Do you remember him and everything the two of you did?"

Kim had to give an embarrassed smile. "Not everything. A lot of it is a golden haze."

"But it's strictly him?"

"Yes."

The smile could have broken the black girls face. "What else could you possibly _want_ to remember girl?"

"Well," Kim said, throwing her hands around helplessly, "my other friends as well."

"Girl," came the reply with a lopsided smile, "being that you now have your date for the SENIOR Prom, you'll have every opportunity to see and enjoy all your friends at that time, in the company of your steady boyfriend," clapping him on the shoulder as she said it.

Monique then jerked her had down. Rufus was tapping on her ankle with one hand, rubbing his stomach with the other. She rolled her eyes. "The bottomless mole rat calleth."

Once all the food issues were taken care of (and Rufus was set up on an adjacent table to make all the mess he wanted), Kim finally got a chance to ask the first question burning in her mind.

"Is something going on with Bonnie? You said when we were talking on the phone that she really burned out of the gym looking like she was going to explode like a nuke. And on the way in, we saw just a couple of her posse and they didn't look happy."

Monique looked up with eyes flashing more emotions than could possibly be held. "You don't know half of it and frankly I don't know if everything I've heard since I talked to you this morning is real or just nasty rumors. All I know for a fact is that Bonnie's in the hospital."

"WHAT!" Kim's jaw and mind actually unhinged as a hundred possibilities, all of them horrible ran though it. She felt his arm go around her shoulder and she reached out to grab his leg that was next to her. "What happened? Is she going to be all right?"

Monique gave her a grim smile. "Condensing all the various rumors and gossip, it sounds like she and Flag and a bunch of the other Football players went to one of their houses. Bonnie had way too much to drink and got way too much out of control. I don't know how much credence to give it, but a lot of the talk is that she started to get involved with the other girls boyfriends and it was getting pretty ugly. The guy's whose house it was called an older college aged sister and she drove Bonnie home. Supposedly Bonnie's Mom found her this morning passed out in her room with a half dozen bottles stolen from her parent's liquor cabinet, mostly empty. They couldn't get her to wake up and the paramedics were called. So she's in the hospital for acute alcohol poisoning as her blood alcohol level was something like two points under the level that should have killed someone her size and weight."

"Oh my God," Kim breathed, feeling Ron shake his head beside her. She looked to him with dread on her face, "you don't think—"

Ron pulled her to him. "Don't even think that," he hissed. "This was totally and completely Bonnie's doing. She's dug her hole long time ago and if you think that what happened with us last night in that gym—"

"He's right," Monique stressed to her, eyes pleading. "You can't think that you're to blame. Everyone in that gym _except_ Bonnie was cheering for you last night. What does that tell you, what should that tell _her._ I would say that it _did_ tell her something and in typical Bonnie fashion, once again she took it to a dangerous extreme."

Ron pushed her back in order to look into her eyes. He was upset to see that they had tears in the edges of them. _Bonnie wasn't worth that after everything she has done to you, _he thought._ But then that was just the kind of person you are my love, kind and compassionate, even towards your worst enemy when that enemy was in trouble_.

"Hopefully," he grated, "this will be enough of a dangerous close call to teach her something. Maybe open her eyes up a little, make her a little more aware. We can hope for that, as we can hope that she makes a quick recovery."

Kim nodded, dropping her head to rub the tears out of her eyes. She then looked back up at him, "can we see if we can visit her?"

Ron smiled and nodded, "as soon as we can hose the cheese off Rufus."

* * *

It was late afternoon. They were in Middleton Park, lying in the grass together. Ron was on his back, head against a tree, Rufus sprawled lazily atop his blond hair. Kim was snuggled into the crook of his right arm with her head on his shoulder 

Bonnie was still unable to see anyone but at least they had tried. They had spoken to Bonnie's mother who had been completely mystified by her daughter's actions. Obviously there was a parent who had no clue what her child was doing.

They had been in the park, in each other's arms for the better part of an hour. Ron was enthralled by it all. Not even his wildest dreams could match the reality of what had come to pass. Yeah, he had had some of those Senior Girls hanging on his arm after one of his many 'makeover's and he and Zita had held hands a couple of times, but nothing, _nothing_ compared to this.

Kim on the other hand, had to bite her tongue and try not to make any out-loud comparisons with any of the other boys she had been with. Ron might not understand and might have a hard time believing her even if she did try to be totally honest with him. But she wanted in the worst way to _tell_ him. Sure, she had been held and cuddled like this before. But it had never, _never_, _felt_ like this _ever_! The face that something that she had previously experienced could be so shockingly different. The fact that it felt . . . . so right, so _perfect_.

But all good things must come to an end.

"We better get going," she sighed with deep reluctance. "It's getting on dinner time. And we both have to start getting ready for finals."

Ron sighed just as heavily. "You know KP, remember when we use to do this all summer long?"

Kim chuckled. "Yeah, but we were never quite _this_ close and we had to stop when we started doing the mission thing."

He sighed again. "I know. It's just been nice, that's all."

Kim rolled up over onto him, her eyes burning straight into his, "I know, and I promise that we will have as much time as we can make just to be together but we have to be realistic as well. We have our whole life ahead of us—"

Now Ron chuckled, "with me sitting at home cooking and doing your laundry while you're out saving the world."

She hunched herself up onto him further until her nose was against his. "Not on your life Stoppable. There's a major news conference at Buenos Nachos Headquarters on Monday. We're going to be there, as _Team_ Possible and the record is going to be set straight and will be kept straight from there on out."

Kim then stopped and reached out to gently take his face in her hand. "Tell me that I'm right," she said very softly, "and that we're meant to be together for the rest of our lives and everything _that_ means. Because that's the way I've felt since this has all happened. And it's felt so good and so right. Tell me that you feel the same way?"

Ron didn't say anything. He just reached out and took her head, bringing her in to kiss her for a very, very long time.

When he finally let her go, she was crying. She smiled, sniffing and started to try and brush back the tears. It was all she could do to say, "I'll take that as a yes."

"Booya" he whispered with a smile.

* * *

_

* * *

Well, this sucks!" Shego grumbled as she lay, dressed in a plain, orange jail jumpsuit on the bunk staring at the ceiling of the bare cell. Of course, she had been repeating those immortal lines over and over again for the past several hours and just couldn't seem to get her mind past them. It had looked so good this time, right up to the end! It had all the appearances of success right up to the very friggin end! Dr D actually had a plan that was working! _

The Diablo's had already been kicking ass all over the world, the calls from the smaller governments begging for mercy had already started to come, offers of massive money transfers from corporations and private individuals had been flooding their 'in' box.

Then Possible had appeared! At the very last friggin minute! Like the stupid cavalry coming to the rescue. What was with her? She should have been broken, mentally destroyed if nothing else. How had she recovered? And how in the hell had she gotten loose?

And Stoppable? He had actually gotten in there and held his own against a Syntho-Drone that should have been way beyond the ability of any regular human around.

Shego put a hand on her forehead. _It would make my head hurt if it didn't already from that stupid tower falling on me. _The hand then moved down to her chest. _But that tickled compared to that kick she gave me. That would have torn a normal human in half. She had to be majorly ticked off. It's a good thing my enhanced body was able to handle it? That was more than a little out of character for her. The whole boyfriend thing must have really struck a nerve._

She sighed heavily._ It's a good thing that the only thing in this whole mess that I take seriously is my rivalry with little Miss Kimmy. Until the day that I decisively beat her in one on one combat, everything else is just a game that keeps me around to encounter her._

And she opened her eyes and glanced around the cell. _And here we go again. How long will it be and how many jails, how much of the local 'criminal justice system' will I have to be sent through before I can get it all scoped out to find the right combination of breaks I need to bust out._ She then chucked to herself. _Which I will. Even after all this time, none of these jokers has figured out what it is that holds me in here and what it is that doesn't. And eventually they'll stick me where it doesn't and it'll be bye bye—again."_

Shego then frowned. _I hope they don't move Dr D. too far away in the meantime. I _hate_ it when I have to search to bust him out._

She sighed deeply. _I guess I really shouldn't have thrown that table into that group of hookers in the processing room. Got myself put into solitary too quick. Could use someone to help me get all these tangles out of my hair._ She shook her head. _This sucks._

* * *

The Duty Sergeant was flipping through sheets on three different clipboards when the ear splitting ring of the panic alarm ripped though the control room. 

DAMN! He had three buses in the bay, had the loads from seven more standing in the halls waiting to be placed into holding tanks, had the contents from three of those tanks in the process of being shifted upstairs to their cells and something was going to shit in—his eyes found the red telltale, Block Center South.

"Lock it down," he shouted as he came out of his chair, "lock it all down" and was immediately rewarded by the sudden heavy crashing of iron and steel doors, the echoes reverberating back through the long corridors, thundering over the curses of angry men and the shouts and commands of deputies.

He had snatched up the hand held radio from his desk, cranking the volume knob up, waiting for something to give him an idea just what was going on.

"CP, Sam 7, we need EMT in Block Center R13, expedite!"

The Sergeants face got grimmer. Whatever had happened, someone was hurt and it didn't sound like it was good.

"CP, Sam 7, have Sam 1 respond my 20."

His eyebrows went up. It had to be really serious as he lifted his hand held to his mouth and said, "Sam 1 in route."

When he came into the corridor, he found it was filled with gang member's proned out on their stomachs; hands behind their backs with twist cuffs. At the entrance to R13 was Sam 7 and he was pale.

"What happened Paul?"

"We got a major screw up Sarge."

The face narrowed further and the tone got lower. "So what happened?"

The subordinate took a deep breath and swallowed. "Bills had this tank covered but he cut his hand in that fight earlier. He went to the dispensary to get it cleaned. Right after he left, bus 28 came in, this one, the one from Camp Smith that was an hour late due to that pile up on the Interstate."

The Sergeant looked at the bodies prone on the floor and looked back to the subordinate with a nod.

The man swallowed again. "With all the tanks up front waiting for the evening traffic from the courts to come in, there was no place else to put these guys so they were put in here. But—"

The Sergeants eyes narrowed further. "But what Paul?"

Paul licked his lips. "No one checked the tank before they put these guys in. Bills had a single overflow, an isolation, a keep away."

The Sergeants eyes flew wide. "Oh my God! Who?"

Paul wiped his forehead with his hands. "That blue skinned guy." His eyes then burned into the Sergeants. "He was in there with them for over a half an hour, they did a full number on him."

The Sergeant closed his eyes in pain before walking into the tank and turning to look to where the EMT's were working.

"Shit!"

* * *

She had never known such anger. And she did everything she could to hold onto it, to fan it, to encourage it. 

The visits had helped. Her clueless, hopeless, absolutely worthless Mother, blubbering over her like she was some kind of a baby. She wanted to scream at her, physically strike at her, tell her to get away from her, that she didn't need that, that she was more mature, more aware of the 'real' world, of how sick and rotten it really was. Her Mother would even be able to comprehend that fact.

And of course, two of the primary teachers of that knowledge had also come to pay her a visit. Her insufferable sisters, Connie and Lonnie, the two bitches she hated only marginally less than the main thorn in her life. They had made their usual snide comments about how she wasn't even smart or hip enough to do herself in right. They actually got her going to the point that her monitor alarms went off.

But she reserved her true hatred for the one who really deserved it. The one who was the focus of her thoughts, the phantom of her entire being as she had rutted her way through that party and then tried to drown herself in alcohol.

Somehow, before the Senior Prom, she would find someway, whatever it took, lying, cheating, stealing, using anybody she had to in any way that she had to, using her own body in any way that she had to, it didn't matter what it took or who she had to hurt to do it, somehow, she would get to Kim Possible and she would bring her DOWN.

Because no one made her look like a fool in front of the ENTIRE class like she had last night

No one.


	2. Finals Week

Kim stood in the center of a small group of various committee members, giving last minute advice, direction, or instructions for whatever they had planned over the summer break. One by one, those same various members, having received what they sought, thanked her, and broke off from the group.

It was normally no big for her. But she found that her cheeks were starting to get just a _little_ bit red when _all_ of them made some kind of comment to her as they left about her enjoying her summer with her new Beau.

When they were at last all gone, Kim took a deep breath, clutching her horde of books tightly to her chest. The last three weeks had been more than intense with studying, her having to fill in for Bonnie in the committees and teams they were both involved in (the ones that Bonnie actually deemed were important enough to put work into that is), her normal load of various minor and medium 'somebody needs help/I can do anything' hits on the website and dealing with the continuing ramifications that were coming down from Drakken's scheme.

Billions in dollars of damage had been done worldwide. Governments wanted heads. Her Dad had been called before a Congressional Committee to discuss his Cybertronic discovery and all the implications about it. She and Ron had been the center of a constant demand for interviews and appearances of news shows and the like.

And they still had to be dealing with FINALS!

But this was it. Today was the last day of those. She was done! Now all she was waiting for was for Ron to finish his last test. They had a short week next week to close out their classes then they were off for the summer!

Kim blew a breath upwards that flipped her bangs away from her forehead. Hopefully now the craziness would lessen and she and her 'Beau' would have more time than what they had spent with her tutoring him in math.

She started to slink tiredly toward her locker. Thinking back, the sum, and total of their 'close' time together recently had been 'sleeping together' on a couple of quick plane trips. But even that had been nice. _Him leaning the seat back, letting me put my head in his lap, his arm around my chest to where my hands where holding his in front of me. Very nice._

And there was most definitely something else. In all the years Kim had known him, she had seen a whole host of 'New Ron's'. But the one that had come out in the last several weeks, it almost left her breathless.

Outwardly he hadn't changed. Ron was still the biggest goof, the happy, devil may care guy that she had always known. And his manner and personality hadn't changed either.

Except—

Kim had seen him, on those missions where it really counted, when the chips were down, when he knew that he had to make a decision and stick to it, when someone was counting on him and it was time to play, when he was the last man standing and the bet was called, how he was perfectly capable of showing a maturity, a drive, a dedication, a willingness to lay it on the line that more than once had saved the mission—

Or her life.

And that trait was starting to show now in all his work. Outwardly, the lazy, lackadaisical, it can get done tomorrow Ron was still there in word and tone. But when it actually came time to _do_ the work, he was there before he was suppose to be, he was interested and he was _trying_ even if he was still hopelessly lost.

Even more so, Ron had been talking to Wade, trying to figure out _why_ he had such a hard time with the gadgets, why was he always loosing his pants, what could he do to avoid the same repetitious mistakes that he was constantly making.

None of it was working so far but at least he was _trying_.

And there was something else different about him that Kim hadn't exactly put her finger on yet. But considering how little they had seen each other outside of times of total crisis (be it study, tests, commitments or mission) mode, there hadn't been exactly a lot of time to just sit and talk.

Kim finally reached her locker, opened it, and heaved her books into it. She couldn't wait to turn them all in next week but that of course also meant that it would be time to pull the computer out so that Wade to have it picked up for its annual upgrades and maintenance.

She ran a quick check on the website to see if there was any activity—

"Hmmmm," she mused. "Baby sitting quintuplets in Tibet, well, they're not going to be pampered. Lost Llama in Lima, nothing to spit at. Missing octopus from Australian aquarium, I think after that fight I had with that one belonging to Senor Senior Sr, I'll keep that one at arms length."

Kim scanned a few more hits then she stopped and blinked. She reread the line twice, and a grin that just barely bordered on evil, slowly crossed her face.

* * *

Ron came out into the hall, trying very hard to get his eyes to come down from the trashcan lid size they had obtained when they saw the questions on the sheet of paper that had hit his desk.

Panic, total panic, total complete panic, had, of course, without question, immediately, totally, set in. But, true to his new philosophy, he steeled himself against the inevitable failure staring him in the face and he went ahead and tried his best anyway.

And now, with the test over and done, with him, safely, outside of the classroom, he could, with complete confidence, go find a quite corner, and go, completely, TO PIECES!

But Ron stopped and took a shuddering breath. No, he wouldn't do that. He did try his best, and that was all he was asking of himself at this point in time.

Because that is what Kim expected of him.

Being struck by lighting can be a bad thing or a good thing depending on what you learn from it. Being struck twice within four days can be a quantum lesson if applied right.

With the talk Kim's Dad had with him as he waited to take her to the Prom as a beginning; and the news conference at the ruins of Bueno Nacho Headquarters as an ending, several life changing realizations had come to him from which things were happening that he was still not sure of where they would eventually lead.

The bottom line of it all was that Kim always did her best. The fact of the matter that she was so much better than him at _everything_ was a moot point. It was that her life code was based on that fact that made it important.

Her Dad had said things to him that startled and frightened him without even saying words containing those kinds of meanings. Ron still couldn't believe that he had heard Mr. Dr Possible talk so frankly and directly to him about those kinds of subjects or about his own daughter in that way. But in retrospect, he certainly understood the reasons behind it and after much thought, had come to respect it.

At the news conference, Kim had almost caused his fair skin to blush permanently pink as she frankly told of her own failures, spoke of his supposed strengths and brought together all of them, including Rufus (as a 'trained' mole rat), as the reason why Drakken was defeated. Kim then continued, listing time after time, both he or Rufus had been the ones who had actually been the decisive players on a mission and she had concluded by proclaiming that no more would if be acceptable to her that she alone be recognize for the accomplishments of _Team Possible_.

That night, Ron lay in his bed, and unbidden, her words came to him—

"_Tell me that I'm right and that we're meant to be together for the rest of our lives and everything that means. Because that's the way I've felt since this has all happened. And it's felt so good and so right. Tell me that you feel the same way?"_

Could there be any doubt in either of their minds that marriage and a life together was not all that far off? But if that was going to happen, could he stay the way he was?

Take the two revelations, combine them with the vision of Kim almost _pleading_ with him to confirm that they were already headed for a life joined and there could only be one answer.

Yes and no.

No. He wasn't stupid. How many times had he tried to make some radical change in the way he looked or the kind of guy he was? All of them had ended in abysmal failures. Why? Because, in Kim's own words, he had tried to change the essential Ronness that made him _him._

Yes, something else had to change, and that was his attitude about _how_ he dealt with life, all the curve balls and strikes it threw him, of how with Kim, he could no longer slack off and expect _her_ to do all the work for them (they were now a _team_ in every sense of the word), and how he could no longer dare to pull anything less than 100 on a mission.

Something else had also occurred. After the big news conference and during the week that followed at school, he had realized, as other kids commented on stuff from the news or on his status with Kim—

He no longer felt a need or urge to puff himself up and make a big thing out of it. No exaggerated stories, no grand pronunciations on his deeds, no sweeping shows to any of the groups of Senior Girls to get them to pay attention to him.

It took some serious dark, middle-of-the-night, staring-at-the-ceiling for the answer to come to him. When it did, he actually found comfort with it rather than pain.

He had Kim, She loved and respected him. Her Parents, his Parents, Monique, Felix, they all loved and respected him. He didn't need to brag anymore, he didn't need to make himself feel big in anybodies eyes.

He was trying in school. He was trying to learn the mission things. He knew his own abilities and limitations. He finally, truly liked and respected himself—the part beyond the fun loving goof—the part beyond the Middleton MadDog Mascot—the part that was the boy master chef—all the other parts where he had been a lost, frightened little kid still in pre-k—and it made all the difference in the world.

Ron had found that he could still be HIM! That was the boy that Kim loved! But he could improve that boy! She had said it herself; there inside his tree house and at that moment, he had _hated_ her for it.

_Time to grow up_.

Now he wanted to grow up! Because he wanted to grow _old_ with Kim Possible!

So he pulled himself upright and tried to roll some of the tension out of his shoulders. Whatever the results were, he had tried his best. That was his motto now.

And there was no 'New Ron'; he _hated _the thought of that as well. What he liked the thought of was—Kim's Ron.

"Hey Ron—" called a voice from behind him, causing him to turn, causing him to smile.

* * *

Kim still had a smirk on her face as she finished tidying up her locker. She then went and closed it, turning to place her back against it. The hall was only slightly occupied and it was with a weird sense of déjà vu that she looked around.

_What is it I'm seeing here? Why am I getting goose bumps all of a sudden? There's just me and three or four couples in the hall here? Why—oh!_ And she had to bring a hand up to touch her lips.

_I remember standing here in front of my locker, I saw those other, three or maybe four couples all walking around, all looking starry eyed at each other. Then I saw Bonnie making goo-goo eyes at Brick while she was gushing at him about how _good_ he was going to look in his tux for the Prom. And all the while I felt so lost and alone and unloved and unwanted. And then Ron showed up with his Bueno Nacho petition. He SHAMED me by telling me we were so tight and that I was always there for him while all _I_ was thinking about was that Ron wasn't boyfriend material, wasn't a candidate for Bonnie's Food Chain and that he certainly wasn't even on the planet for the boy that I needed to take to the Prom in order to make that STATEMENT I told Mom about._

Kim brought the hand up from her lips to her eyes and she felt the corners of them go moist. _How foolish, how selfish, how completely ARROGANT I was. No wonder I was a prime picking for Drakken and Syntho-Drone 901. I will never, _never _live down that insufferable pride that made me so blind to so much._ She pulled her head up and blinked back the tears. _And I will try to never take any friend, or anyone close to me for granted again._ Then a little smile came to the corner of her mouth. _Because you never know, just who might be yesterday's best friend, and today's boyfriend just might be tomorrow's lover and husband?_

Movement around the corner caught her eye, and she quickly wiped her eyes clear and straightened her face for a full-blown smile as Ron, with Monique, and Felix came around the curve. Now here was _her_ Boyfriend to walk with through the halls with (if she could _only_ manage not to get herself involved in so many things), and she was relishing next year and every opportunity that she would have to do just that.

"Hi Monique, hi Felix," Kim beamed. Then as they all came up with Ron in the lead, she gave a quick glance around before snapping her neck out to give Ron a quick smack on the lips.

Ron blinked and jerked his head back in surprise. "KP," his voice then dropped to a fierce whisper, "what if Barkin saw you?"

Kim just grinned. "How many other girls have I seen do that to their boyfriends and just how long have I been _dying_ to have a chance to do it. Ill take the risk thank you."

Ron put a hand on his hip. "You are incorrigible."

"Yeah!" intoned Rufus popping up out of Ron's pocket.

"And I'm just getting started," she said wickedly as she rocked back and forth on her hips, delighting in the sight of Ron turning the color of Monique's skirt.

"So?" Kim grinned at him, leaning forward with her eyes asking the obvious question.

Ron shrugged and gave a smile, scratching the back of his neck. "I did the best I could. I actually recognized _some_ of it—"

"Miracles are cureicles," Monique intoned reverently.

"Good enough," Kim beamed back at him, his ears now going red at the praise. "I would say that a grande would be an appropriate reward for your effort Mr. Stoppable. And as I can't wait to get you out of school and away from Mr. Barkin domain so that I can lay my arms around you and properly congratulate you—"

"Kim—" Ron's forehead was now going crimson as his eyes flicked back at Monique and Felix.

Kim just laughed. "Comon you guys," and led the way down the hall.

Kim managed to keep her hands to herself until they crossed the line from the parking lot to the sidewalk. Then like a striking snake, she had Ron's hand, was pulling it around her waist as she firmly planted her hip into his, her arm going around his back as her head followed through with a sharp tilt over onto his shoulder.

"Aaahhhh!" Kim intoned loudly.

Rufus scrambled up onto Ron's shoulder, hugging the top of Kim's head in his little paws with a matching "Aaahhhh!"

"Ah, guys," Ron sounded annoyed.

"What?" Kim sounding like Miss Completely Innocent.

"Yeah, what?" said her little hairless echo.

"Is it really fair to be doing this in front of Felix and Monique?" Ron said in a hissing whisper.

Kim felt her eyebrows going up. "I really don't think they'll mind," she said quietly. "They are our best friends. They both certainly know how we feel about each other and they're aware that I'm certainly on the pushy side when it comes to things like this."

"Yeah," Ron didn't sound convinced. "I just think it's in bad taste when they don't have anyone."

"Oh," and Kim truly was hurt. By both his failure to be swayed by her argument and by his firmness in tone expressing his disapproval.

Kim started to disengage herself. "Sorry," she said and meant it. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable. But I really don't think they'd mind. They both know how long we've waited and—" and she looked back over her shoulder.

And stopped dead in her tracks.

Ron of course, tuned to her as he was, immediately went into Mission mode and stopped dead as well, whirling around to see what had shocked Kim so—

And stopped dead as well.

Felix and Monique, who had only been a couple of steps behind them, came to a stop, looked into the startled faces and said at the same time, "What?"

Kim and Ron (and Rufus) could just continue to stare.

Felix of course had his right hand on his chair control joystick. Monique was walking on the chairs left side so of course—

Monique's right hand was _very_ firmly inside of Felix's left hand.

For once Ronness won out over Miss I Can Do Anything (because right now Kim could do NUTHIN).

"How? When? Why? Where? How?—no I said that already—my head hurts."

Big grins broke out on both Felix's and Monique's faces but at the same time, as if planned, they shrugged and again just said together, "what?"

"What?" Kim repeated, finding her voice at last, abet maybe an octave higher than normal. "What do you mean what?" She stabbed a pointing hand at held hands. "That's what!"

Monique now looked like the lioness that had eaten the goat. "Don't know what the big deal is girl. Just me and my man cruising behind a couple of our friends. Bein that you two were so lovin, didn't see why we couldn't be."

"WHEN DID YOU TWO BECOME—"

Monique's hands flew up to ward off the verbal tidal wave. "Whoa girl, tone down the volume! Mr. Renton and I have been locked tight a little over two months."

Picture—Kim, Ron, Rufus, all standing hunched forward, wide eyed, mouths hanging agape.

Felix chuckled. "Ah, guys, your going to be eating flies in a moment." (Three jaws click closed in unison).

Kim shook her head to clear the cobwebs. With an appealing look, "why didn't I know?"

"Or me dude," came the same appeal from Ron to Felix.

Monique and Felix exchanged looks. Monique then looked to the other couple with a certain pain in her eyes. "We actually came together as a result of you two going apart."

Kim and Ron both felt the same thing sear through their insides. With those simple words, it was so obvious.

"I became lost with Eric," she said.

"And I became lost without her," he said.

Monique nodded and added, "and Felix and I found each other while trying to find comfort for ourselves while we were watching what you Kim were doing to Ron. And _we_ needed the comfort. Forget you guys. You both had cut yourselves off from everything. You had eyes only for Eric and you Ron, you buried yourself so deep, not even your mole rat could find you. So is it any wonder that you didn't even see us together? We weren't even trying to hide."

"You wouldn't even come to talk Ron," Felix said with a certain amount of pain. "And I don't know why.

Ron bowed his head. "The answers simple dude, if I talked to you, you might help me make sense out of it all. And I didn't want that. I didn't want it to be alright. Because if it was alright, that might mean that it was alright for—" and he couldn't say any more, he just looked at Kim with haunted eyes.

Kim turned and took Ron into her arms, stroking his hair. He laid his head on her shoulder. After a moment, Kim looked over to Felix, "he means that it would mean—that it would have been alright for me and Eric to be together."

Felix gave her a nod. "I think I understood that already, and dude, now you have my understanding, and I'm sorry I doubted you."

Ron pulled away from Kim, moved over to Felix, and bent over, hugging his friend tightly. No more words needed to be said.

When Ron managed to stand back up (both of them suspiciously rubbing at eyes when they did)—"So, if you guys have been tight that long, why weren't you at the Prom?"

Felix grinned ruefully. "My Mom and I had to show off," and he made a wave at his chair, "at a symposium in Oslo that was scheduled six months ago."

Ron nodded. "I remember you mentioning that. I told you to go after those Swedish Blonds."

Felix's grin grew bigger as he glanced up at Monique who gave him a smoking look back. "Weelllll, that _had_ been my intention but by that time I was firmly in someone else's back pocket."

"Damn straight!" Monique snapped with matching stomp of her foot.

"But the Prom," Kim said in wonder, "I heard something about you and Brick—"

Monique laughed long and hard. "Yeah, of course. I made some eyes and high fives at him. Especially regarding the news involving your kicking Drakken's butt. But that was just to get a rise out of little Miss Bonnie. Besides, I know that all Brick is really interested in is getting a piece of _my_ butt and honey," she now turned her loving eyes on Felix, "my standards are much higher than that ham handed jock could ever hope to fill."

"I am sorry," Felix added, "that I wasn't there for your guys big entrance. I was busy pulling people out of wrecked high-rises (again he patted his chair). But I understand that someone's humiliation was priceless."

Kim's face sobered. "Not to the point she took it however."

Monique gave her a warning look. "Kim, what have we told you?"

Kim shrugged helplessly. "I know, but still—"

Ron moved to put his arm around her. "Come on. Now that I will not be embarrassed to show you the proper amount of public affection in front of our good friends, who can also display their public affection to their hearts content, lets go get that grande and get our summer started."

Kim looked up at him for a moment. "Hey?" she said softly.

"What?" Ron replied in the same tone.

Kim's face came quickly up and she kissed him _hard._

They had no idea just how long they held it, but when they finally broke it, breathless and flushed, they blinked at each other for a moment, then without another word, looked to their side.

Monique was on her knees next to Felix's chair, their arms were around each other's necks, and their kiss was as deep and as impassioned as the one they had just shared.

Kim sagged against him, wonder, and joy in her heart. Everything was just so _right._

* * *

* * *

They just kept telling her everything that was wrong with her life. But Bonnie knew better.

Oh she played the game. She listened to what they had to say, turned it around, and started to tell them what they _wanted_ to hear from her. She was after all an expert in manipulating everyone around her. She had been for as long as she could remember. Right back to when her parents, her true parents, were still together. She had learned from the best. Her Father manipulating her Mother as he paraded a dozen blatant affairs in front of her until some little thing almost _her_ age finally took him away for good. Her two sisters, the ones who truly taught her every little nuance and aspect as they twisted, her, their Mother, their Step Father (to the point where he only slept in the house now having nothing else to do with the family), their multitude of boyfriends.

Bonnie had learned her lessons well. Her Mother she could tie up in a half dozen ways. Half the kids at school had no defense against her. Even HER, her thorn, and sworn archenemy, she was occasionally able to at least turn beat-red tweaked. The only ones she failed against were Connie and Lonnie because they were truly light years ahead of her.

But the talent was coming in handy with the stupid staff at this prison they called a juvenile therapy clinic. They were of course; very happy with the _improvement_ she was showing. But she knew herself. She wasn't going to change. Not for them, not for anybody. Especially not for HER!

It was the 'group therapy' sessions that really gave her the screaming fits. Sitting in a big circle like kindergarten kids having to listen over and over to everybody's sob story then listening to everybody else talk about what they thought about everybody's sob story. It made her want to puke! And it gave her the hardest time trying to cover her tracks, keeping her story consistent when she was having to make answers up to some of the asinine questions the other stone heads kept asking her.

But she was halfway through the six weeks in this hell hole and it was helping in the fact that every morning when she woke up in that ward with all those other dopers, alkies, stoners and junkies, that her anger increased ten fold. When some skinny little fourteen-year-old ex-hooker tweeker was detailed as part of her therapy to help her fix _her_ hair, her resolved stiffened all the more.

Her Mom came to see her every Sunday. Her Father had been a no-show. She wished that no one came at all.

There was only one thing she wanted—and she meant to have it.

* * *

It was hard to be a good girl but it was getting to be time where she had to force herself to be one. She had been moved several times, to several hearings, as usual. Shego _hated_ the hearings. She was forced to wear a conservative dark gray and black _dress _as to present the proper sympatric image. Her hands were always wrapped in the special ceramic mittens that contained her power and her arms chained to her sides so she could not remove them or use any fancy moves on anybody. Her court appointed lawyers were always badgering her about her conduct, which she ignored. She liked to piss the judges off by being annoying, disrespectful and sarcastic. It also served the purpose of delaying her hearings, forever postponing them, keeping her in one facility, causing her to be taken back and forth many times, allowing for her to spot the best place for her to make her breakout.

But now that she had done that, she had to be a good girl, get out of solitary, get the guards comfortable and complacent with her and bide her time for the right set of circumstances to fall into place where she could act.

When Shego finally got reading room privileges restored, the first thing she did was gather all the newspapers since her incarceration and catch up on events.

Reports from a certain news conference that had been held at the ruined Headquarters of Bueno Nacho were certainly good reading_. Little Kimmy is sure giving Stoppable and the mole rat a whole lot of the credit. And the photo, the two of holding hands, hhhuuummmm. Something else going on there maybe? Little Kimmy Cub on the rebound from Syntho-Drone 901. That would be an interesting but I guess not unexpected occurrence. Wonder how long the hormone rush will last._ Shego went on to reading the rest of the accumulated papers.

After lights out however, Shego lay on her bunk, hands behind her head, staring at the dark ceiling, her mind going back over the last several months.

_We were so close this time, literally right down to the wire. Why was that?_ And she allowed her mind to roam farther, trying to recall memories, impressions.

_Dr. D had a plan, a real plan. But more to that, it was a plan based on an idea, on his research, which I scoffed at but in retrospect, almost worked as advertised. Not bad for a first attempt. He must have done a lot of prior preliminary work that I wasn't aware of, like setting up the hostile takeover of Bueno Nacho. He had his ducks in a row as far as people in position to get things done, like the individual repeater antennas in place, the one in the Middleton Bueno Nacho for example. He certainly had his 'research' regarding little Miss Kimmy on the right track, although from my experience at that age, I would have changed a few things. It seemed to be all together. His plan _was_ working._

Shego had to stop and shake her head. It was giving her a headache. But she also knew that this was important and had to be carried through.

_Okay, think! What did little Kimmy say? In a nutshell, it was the three of them, her, the sidekick, and the mole rat, working as a team that once again saved the day. She made it sound like it was always, _them, _their teamwork, that made it possible for her to always—_

Suddenly her eyes flashed wide and she came to a full upright sitting position. Her eyes then narrowed and an angry "of course, it was so obvious" slid from her lips.

_And the reality was that it held for Dr. D this time as well. He had a team! Not at tight as the other, but his researchers, his henchmen, his controllers, Syntho-Drone 901, ME, we were all HIS team!_

_And we had almost, ALMOST, won. If it hadn't been for 'Team Possible' somehow busting loose (_her money was on the mole rat_), they had already won!_

_THAT WAS THE ANSWER, TEAMWORK ON BOTH SIDES._

Now her eyes continued to narrow to a _very_ dangerous squint. _So how we proceed is obvious. Dr. D _had_ the right concept by trying to take Kimmy out of the picture with the whole boyfriend thing. And if it had just been her by herself, it probably would have worked flawlessly. But somehow, Stoppable got to her, got her spirit to come back, doing his part of the Team thing._

One corner of her mouth curled up in a very grim smile. Her thoughts went to all the cars she saw driving around the United States with the stickers saying "United We Stand" on them.

"Well, Team Possible," Shego muttered under her breath, "lets see what happens when we apply the concept of 'Divided We Fall' to your roster of members."

_And if there is in fact, hormones currently flying between little Kimmy and the sidekick, so much the better._

* * *

* * *

He lay on his side in the center of his bed. He wasn't shivering; the drugs they were giving him were taking away the shivers. But they weren't stopping the shaking in his mind, the quaking in his stomach, the trembling in his very soul!

Why had those bad men want to hurt him that way? Why did they do such awful, disgusting things to him, laughing all the time while they did it?

He never _really_ wanted to hurt anybody. He just wanted to take over the world! He had such really nice plans for when he did. EVERYBODY would have food and clothing and a house. He would wipe out poverty and hunger and disease and strife. All he wanted in return was to be in charge of it all, have everybody in the world look up to him, appreciate him for his genius and brilliance and all the wonderful things he would give to mankind. Was that too much to ask?

But those men, no, NO! Not men! Those animals in men's bodies, what they had done—

And he was told that there was nothing that could be done. No witnesses, no one that he could positively identify because they all looked like animals to him.

No, that couldn't, SHOULDN'T have happened to him! He was a scientist, a brilliant researcher, a man of incredible power that demanded respect and subservience. But they had reduced him to a whimpering child.

Worse than that, how could he save the world now by taking it over when at last he saw just how corrupt, sick and terrible the world was? A world that allowed such animals to go unpunished. A world that allowed his genius to go unrewarded. Yes, unrewarded and scorned right from the day his supposed friends laughed at him for his first attempt at a humanoid robot.

His entire life had been nothing but trial and strife since that day! When, WHEN? When would he extract his due?

And did he truly want it now that he knew that under the pleasant cover of the clover, the streets of the world were covered with vermin that committed the most vile atrocities he had ever known? He—

He stopped.

He thought.

And after a very, very, long, long time—

He smiled.

Yes, it was all so simple, and very easy to do too.


	3. Mysterious Mission

A/N Very Great Thanks to those of you who have made comments on this story so far. They are greatly appreciated. Helpful comments are welcome such as the mysterious 'who cares what my name is, I'm reviewing' comments about my excessive 'she's and 'he's. Hey, no big, I know whom I'm, writing about (it made perfect sense inside my head at the time it was written). But this is the perfect thing for a newwriter who has never _published_ anything before. So I have gone back and revised everything and deleted as many of the 'she's and 'he's as I thought appropriate.

And to address the other critiques, those who commented on the length of the first chapter. The chapters represent blocks of time (usually 24 hours) and everything that happens in that block. They will be as long or as short as what is needed to complete that part of the story. If I'm failing to hold your interest or attention during a long chapter, I need to know the 'why' of it (feel free to e-mail).

Please continue to review people, us 'Old Guys" can still learn and I'm one willing to do so.

* * *

The water was warm and wonderfully clear.

And Kim didn't like either of those facts.

As both she and Ron were in full wet suits, she was sweating up a storm and figured that she had to be as wet inside the suit as she would have been without it. But the suit was meant to protect their mission clothes and gear and therefore was a necessity.

The other factor, the warm clear blue tropical water might be nice to swim through on a vacation, but when they were sneaking up on a supposed hideout? This was therefore, _not_ a good thing.

And they were doing it in mid-afternoon daylight. The sub that brought them had been forced to dodge other mysterious subs in the area. It seemed that everybody was searching for this place and only Wade had pinpointed it (they hoped). Anyway, they were better than eight hours late making their predawn landfall and with all the searching; they could not afford to wait for darkness before going in.

They were nearing the beach. As they were in the lagoon, the waves were gentle and lapping. Yes, this was of course the most likely place to be spotted coming ashore. But the heavy surf on the seaward side would have battered them to pieces if they had tried that way.

Stopping in water were they were maybe just under a foot submerged when standing on the bottom, Kim signaled to Ron to make the recon run.

Ron came to rest, reached around, popped the pod off of his belt, activated its tiny motor, and sent it on its way.

Looking like a piece of driftwood, it bobbed to the surface and 'drifted' firmly into the sandy beach.

The 'occupant' on the pod, his face firmly encased in his own breathing mask, snapped open the bottom hatch and immediately burrowed into the sand, making his way up the beach and into the tree line.

They had intentionally come in as close to one end of the lagoon as they could get. Rufus quickly reconnoitered in whatever way expedient, ground, tree or air, the entire beachfront, tree line, and the area behind it for both current or past activity.

The two of them just hovered below the surface. Kim could see the tension in Ron knowing that his best bud was out there without backup should he encounter some kind of beastie in the bush. He was wringing his hands—

Then a tone sounded in both their ears. Ron gently moved up to where he could stick up a small periscope to view the beach. It took several minutes and views before he saw what he was looking for.

They came out of the water on their stomachs. Rufus had left a line in the sand and it was up this line, directly in single file that they crawled. When they reached the trees, the mole rat was there waiting.

"That's my man," Ron whispered, high fiving the rat with a single finger. "What'd you find?"

Rufus led them carefully, staying off the beach towards a tree to where he could point, "There"

It took them a moment, but when Rufus actually ran to the tree trunk and showed them the cable, they saw the almost completely hidden video camera.

"Good job," Kim whispered beaming.

Rufus held up three digits and pointed to other points on the beach.

"Other cameras?" Ron ventured. Rufus nodded enthusiastically.

"Anything else?" Kim wanted to know.

The Mole Rat shook his head.

"Can you follow the camera wires? Ron asked with hope.

Rufus drooped and said with dejection, "nnoooo!"

Ron gave his little buddy a tiny punch in the shoulder. "No sweat. You did great." He looked to Kim. "What now?"

Kim pulled her mask off and her suit hood down off her head, her hair springing out wildly in it's release. "Lets find someplace we can quietly dump this stuff before looking around."

"I'm with you, it's like a sauna in here," Ron said pulling at his collar.

What they found was a hollow up against a rise leading to the one 'hill' on the whole island. It wasn't very big but it was very heavily overgrown with brush, offering concealment from overhead as well.

There was however no elbowroom and they had to take pains not to smack each other as the pulled their gear off.

Ron found that he was desperately trying to keep focus. Once Kim had pulled the top of the wet suit off revealing her sweat soaked mission shirt—

Her very clingy, sweat soaked mission shirt—

Ron angrily pushed all the thoughts and feelings firmly down. He had been doing too well to let a little thing like Kim in a wet-tee shirt distract him.

He had a prom—never mind.

Once Kim had pulled her equally soaked hair into a controlling ponytail, they started on their way. It was hot, there was no prospect of their drying out anytime soon considering the relative humidity, the temperature had to be in the upper ninety's, and the bugs were something fierce.

"Real tropical paradise," Ron muttered as the sweat ran into his eyes and dripped off his chin.

"Yeah," Kim agreed, feeling as wet and uncomfortable as he sounded, brushing back wisps of hair that had been yanked free of the ponytail by the undergrowth. Wasn't it Bonnie who said that real girls weren't supposed to sweat (but she also liked her guys to 'glisten'? Go figure)?

They spent the better part of two hours carefully casting about the 'hill' looking for signs of further inhabitation. Rufus was out scouting but due to this thick undergrowth, they thought it best that he not get to far ahead. So he stayed in the trees generally above them.

And it was well that he did, for there he found several more video cameras before they stumbled into their lines of view. They also encountered (because they were carefully watching for them) tripwires and sensor beams.

But no sign of any entrance.

Ron checked his watch. "Got a little less than three more hours of light left. Want to check the back of this hill or go right to the seaward side?"

Kim gave it a moment's thought. "Back of the hills in shadow. Rufus or us might miss a camera or trap in that kind of light. Let's hit the cliffs."

The sound of the breakers hitting the rocks was strong and rhythmic. It was also difficult from their position atop them to see anything worthwhile. Ron picked up his buddy and said, "go for it dude, but come back as soon as you see anything likely."

Rufus gave them a jaunty salute and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

They sat together under a thick copse of bushes far off the edge of the cliff. Kim was trying very hard not to slap at the occasional biting bugs, muttering that Wade needed to come up with a better repellant. Ron sat next to her and felt it was best (all things considering) to do some of the simpler forms of meditation from his Monkey Kung Fu training, ones that wouldn't reveal themselves to her.

After a while, she did give him a furtive glance, seeing him, closed eyed, passive, relaxed face—

_Where did he learn to do this?_ she said to herself in wonder._ The old Ron would be keeping half the jungle awake with his constant, whining and complaining. Not that I miss it, but it was so much a part of his Ronness that its absence is startling. He has come so far. Who would of thought of _him_ suggesting that _we_ train together so that our moves are more coordinated? And it's defiantly helping with his clumsiness and coordination._

She then looked down into her lap, trying very hard not to sigh, or give any other indication that he might hear or detect. _If only he would get over his _other_ clumsiness. Why does he act so awkward when things start to get—well—passionate between us? He likes to hold hands, he likes to embrace, he likes to cuddle, he's a _great_ kisser—but when it starts going beyond just affection, starts going towards—well, he just shuts down. I—don't understand it_

Kim brought her head back up, giving him another sidelong glance, things going through her mind that she never would have thought in a million years. Finally, with a heavy swallow on a constricted throat, she faced out to sea, and tried to find other things to concentrate on.

Minutes went by, then they both of their heads jerked around as Rufus scrambled up over the edge of the cliff. He made pointing motions to their left and proceeded to lead them along the top. A half an hour later, Kim and Ron were as spiders, climbing across the face of the cliff (due to cameras on the top) toward a cave like opening.

Despite all the progress he had made, Ron was _still_ terrified of heights/climbing/sheer drops/falls etc. etc, so the only difference now was that he forced himself to do so in total silence, and he forced himself to _take his time_ and _not screw up_.

Kim had crabbed around into a head down position and was gingerly working her way along. Her goal was in sight, a video camera located at the head of the cave. She was to the point where she could _feel_ her center of gravity hanging right of the edge of balance and there weren't sufficient handholds for her to actually crab under the overhang.

She was forced to anchor herself as well as she could and strrreeeettttttcccccchhhhhhh herself outward, feeling the strain and tearing in her joints and back, silently cursing the sweat running into her inverted eyes, stinging, burning, and blurring her vision until with a desperate lunge—

Kim was able to get Wade's little button on the side of the camera box.

She then, with the utmost care, backed her way up, now fighting gravity from a bad point of balance and center, with limbs and muscles weak and shaking from being strained beyond dangerous limits. But she was careful, and she was patient.

Minutes later, back on the edge of the facing, Kim was able to rejoin Ron, who, with the Kimmunicator, was waiting as Wade was using the button on the camera not only to disable it to the point where they would be able to safely pass it, but to hack into the rest of the system and see just what they were up against.

"Doesn't seem to be all that big KP," Ron whispered lest there be microphones about as well. "Unless they're on a completely different circuit, Wade can't locate any cameras inside the cave at all. All the security systems are passive, low profile. Place is either really low tech or really high stealth."

"Probably the latter considering the amount of trouble I had finding it," Wade said over the Kimmunicator.

"No way of knowing just what we're facing inside?" Kim asked hopefully.

"Sorry Kim," was Wade's negative.

"This is the last time we take a mission from Special Agents Smith and Smith without full disclosure of _just_ what we're looking for." Kim groused.

Ron shrugged. "They said we'd know it when we found it. And by all the activity, apparently a lot of people want it."

Kim's eyes narrowed. "_That's_ what bothers me."

* * *

It had taken the better part of three quarters of an hour to slowly make their way up the torturous, twisted cave tunnel. At least a clear, well-used path spoke of the caves occupation in addition to the camera. But the possibilities of additional trip wires, spy beams, or even a silent human guard caused them to take it slow and careful, often times, wading or even swimming (in the one-two foot deep) jungle stream that flowed and splashed its way past them. Illumination was provided by occasional openings overhead (sinkholes). The rest of the time, they had to rely on infrared goggles that allowed them to follow the stream by its heat grandaunt.

Now thoroughly soaked to the skin, (_so much for keeping the mission clothes and gear 'dry'_ Kim thought with tired and disgusted irony), they—

Kim reached up and grabbed Ron's shoulder—

He stopped and looked at her, questioning.

She put a finger to her ear—_listen_

Ron moved his head, his ears searching for what Kim heard, his head stopped, and a bare nod acknowledged her.

It was a card game, some kind of poker, five players, your burly mercenary types in camouflaged fatigues. There wasn't even a fancy 'lair' set up. Just gasoline generators powering their radios, cameras and fridge, (their 'security center' was just loose monitors on plastic tables).

The two teens (and one Mole Rat) looked at each other in incredulous wonder. Just who were these guys, what where they doing and why was everybody looking for them? They were an ethnic mix, (she heard a French, German, English, American and another accent that she didn't recognize), they didn't seem to be aware that the whole world appeared to be looking for them and what were they doing on this tiny island with the crude camp?

There had to be more to this. They had to see if there was more further back in the cave. Kim pinched Ron and started to crawl for the far wall.

It was fortunate that they only lit the parts that they were actually occupying which helped the intruders immensely. They worked their way down the black passage towards the next set of lights. And it was in the back of the cave, that 'what they would know when they found it' was found.

There were two more mercenaries, but these were in chairs. You couldn't say they were truly alert, but they weren't playing cards or otherwise being distracted (they _looked_ bored). For against the far wall behind them, was an older, balding, white hair, male. Your typical elder scientist type and his hands and feet were tied.

Kim of course had no idea who he was and that irked her no end. If this was a simple rescue mission, why not say so? And why Team Possible instead of any of the normal military or spook organizations?

Kim gritted her teeth. Hers was not to reason why, but she sure as shoot was not going to stay that way if she could help it. She took out the Kimmunicator and pointed it in the direction of the two guards and the prisoner knowing that Wade would realize what he was seeing and capture good images. When the device vibrated in her hands, Kim knew he was done and she could replace it. She also knew that Wade would be notifying the 'the Smith's' that they had found the target and that backup should be sent in. She then turned to Ron and their eyes met—

All it took was a moment for the meaning to be conveyed before his goofy grin broke out, he shot her a thumbs up and he rolled over and started to crawl away.

In the darkness Kim came up off her stomach, over onto her butt where she could sit and get her body to relax, getting ready for action. She tried not to think about the fact that the boy who had just gone off to be 'the distraction' for five mercenaries who would probably shoot first and ask questions later—

The boy she lov—lov—damn!

The boy whom after two months, she was still not capable of _telling_ to his _face_ that she l-l-l-l-l oooohhhh!

_Ron, be careful!_

* * *

"I don't _think_ your bluffin, I _know_ your bluffin."

"Man, you are blowing smoke right out your—"

"Don't give me that, there's no way you could draw anything that could beat what I have showing."

"You are so full of—"

"Hey," called a young sounding voice from down the tunnel, "excuse me?"

"What the f—"and they all became silent, hands moving to holsters.

They were trained professionals, but they had never actually 'practiced' taking an intruder in the tunnel, confident that no one would ever get that far without their knowing. But still, they moved with swift, wary skill and they didn't have to go far. For the skinny blond haired kid in the black long sleeved turtleneck and green cargo pants with a loaded equipment belt was only about forty feet up the tube. They pinned in him a flashlight, its weak yellow beam (they hadn't bothered to replace the batteries) barely lighting his face.

Ron was standing in plain sight, his hands half raised, offering no resistance.

The leader, astonishment plain on his face actually lowered his weapon. "And just who the hell are you?" he demanded.

The youth cringed at the harsh voice. "I'm looking for the local Bueno Nacho?" Ron replied timidly.

They all blinked and said, almost in unison, "what?"

Ron grinned. "Was that too much of a flash?" and stepped on the detonator.

The Flash/Bang was just five feet in front of him, but Ron had already launched himself into a Monkey Kung Fu spawned/Yamanauchi school practiced back flip as it went off. In the constricted mouth of the cave, the report was defining, chunks and shards of the ceiling and walls cracking loose just from the sound alone, filling the narrow confines with debris and swirling clouds of loose dust.

The flash blinded the mercs but their automatic reflexes kicked in. They opened up for all they were worth, throwing a hailstorm of lead down the tunnel for the first ten to fifteen seconds it took the leader, screaming at the top of his voice, to overcome their reflexes and get them back under control.

"Is anybody hurt?" he shrieked. Other than the blindness they all suffered from and some nicks and cuts from flying rock, they were all intact.

"Alight," he grated and his voice was beyond angry, "he must have buggered off down the tunnel. I want him alive, because I plan on making him very dead very painfully." And they all shuffled off, cursing and jostling as they stumbled into rocks, the sides of the tunnel and each other in their blindness.

Which was good—

For the Ron Factor had been in effect. When he had done his back flip, instead of coming down on the path as he intended, where he could, in fact, bugger off and lead the mercs on a merry chase away from Kim, he had, in fact, gone off on a wrong angle, rebounded off a rock and ended up in the stream—which, in fact, saved his life, as the mercs had been _much_ faster on the trigger than he had anticipated and had his original plan worked out, he would have, in fact, been well ventilated before he reached the turn in the tunnel and safety.

* * *

The blast and the sudden roar of gunfire from the front of the cave brought the guards to their feet and Kim's heart into her mouth.

_Oh My God Ron! What did you do?_

But Kim put an immediate clamp on her feelings. _It's trust; it's all about trust. I'm the one who's always pushing the team thing. I gave him a job to do; now I have to do mine._

The first guard ran past her hiding place, heading for the front cave. The second was standing his ground back by the prisoner, way too far back for her to get to without him calling for help.

_Comon,_ she pleaded to him, _get curious. Please! Pretty please with naco on top._

And he started to saunter forward.

_Hey, I have to remember that one_

He was far enough away for her to start her backup plan, then she shifted silently into position where she could—

Kim exploded out of the narrow opening between the two rocks. The Second Guard had enough time for his eyes to go wide and to involuntarily tense up before she hit him with a (pardon the expression Ron) monkey fist directly under his jaw. It snapped his head back and Kim head him grunt but she instinctively knew that she had not struck a knockout blow. He was too big, she was too small, too lightweight, and for all the drive she had put into it, legs, hips, arms and shoulders, there hadn't been enough 'umph' to it to make it what it needed to be against a hardcore merc.

The Second Guard was back peddling wildly, trying to keep his feet under him so Kim did one of her 'cheerleader' specials, a forward springboard, up, over into a handstand, push off—launching herself at him, allowing her to use her most powerful weapons, her athletically muscled legs and thighs, cocking them back like a loaded gun ready to—

With all her power Kim KICKED him with both heels in the center if his chest, feeling/hearing something shatter/break, hearing the very wind getting forcibly ejected from his lungs, the blow knocking him back off his scrambling feet, flat onto his back where he slid across the rough hewn floor.

Kim twisted wildly like a cat, her own form responding to Newton's laws regarding equal and opposite reactions as she had rebounded off the mercs body, now threatening to crash land. Kim tucked, biting back a cry of pain as her shoulder slammed into the stone floor (no padded gym mats here). She rolled through it, coming up onto one knee.

Just in time to see the toe of a boot coming right at her face.

With a cry Kim ducked and rolled to her left, out and away from the returning First Guard. He had to stop, swerve about, and try again with a sweeping roundhouse kick that she jumped over. He jabbed which Kim blocked, punched, she blocked again, tried a second, punch, she blocked. Kim then ducked and swirled fully around with ballet like grace and cat like speed in a reverse spin kick that took him in the kidneys.

He folded around the blow as Kim snapped upright. She hopped through a complete change of footing, switching techniques, left to right stance, and drove in a punch. That blow was blocked as she expected even as her torso twisted and allowed her to strike again at those same kidneys with a side snap kick.

The First Guard folded again, his defense almost completely dropping. Kim then leapt straight up for a forward flying crane, putting _all_ of her might into it, her boot catching him under the jaw, his whole head and upper torso _snapping_ back with the force of the blow, blood and other contents of his mouth exploding in all directions.

But he didn't go down.

The First Guard staggered back in front of her, amazement, disbelief, hatred, in his eyes. He continued to back away from her to the far wall, holding the bloody ruins of his face. And when he reached it, when he found the support of that wall next to the hole where she popped out, he reached down and pulled his automatic from its holster.

_OH SHIT!_ as it all flashed before her eyes and being. All the fighting for so long with Shego, Monkey Fist, Syntho-Drones, henchmen, ninjas, all of the villains in her life, she had fallen into complacency about pressing home the attack on an injured foe because for so long, all the ones she had been fighting, either gave up, ran away or came back to fight some more.

THIS GUY WAS GOING TO SHOOT HER!

AND THERE WAS NO WAY KIM COULD STOP HIM!

_MOVE!_

BLANG!

_Don't panic, move!_

BLANG!

_I'm wide open, no cover, move! Ricochet off the ceiling. Don't panic!_

BLANG! (Kim heard the bullet strike the wall behind her)

_Ceilings too low, hit a wall! Move! Rebound away! Don't panic!_

BLANG! (she heard the bullet 'ZIP' past her face)

_Rooms too wide, walls too far, can't rebound, run, RUN! Don't Panic!_

BLANG! (she FELT the bullet STRIKE HER PONYTAIL, SHEARING OFF A LOCK OF HER HAIR)

_Don't Panic! Panic! PANIC!_

BLANG! (she felt—

"RON! RROONNNNNNN!"

* * *

Kim felt—felt like she was panting. Short, shallow, fast panting. And—and shivering, like a little baby chick who had fallen out of the nest. Her knees hurt; her forehead was jarred into something cold, hard, and sharp. She felt her own arms wrapped around herself as if that could shield her, protect her. She tasted bile and felt the rising tide of nausea inside her.

Was she hit? Was she dieing and just somehow unable to feel the pain?

What she felt then, was a hesitant touch to both of her shoulders, accompanied by a frightened, "KP?"

"Ron?" she squeaked, her voice barely audible. But it was enough for the touch to turn to a firm grip and that was all that was necessary to bring on sobs of reaction and relief. Ron managed to lever her up to a sitting position where he could actually turn her and she slowly, as if waking from a terrible nightmare, embraced him.

Kim held on to him, she clung to him; she tried to climb inside him as her entire body heaved with cries from her very center. She felt his arms around her, his hands stroking her hair but everything else seemed numb from shock.

Finally, Ron had to say, "Kimberly, please, we have to get out of here before the others come back!"

He had to repeat himself twice before she made even the slightest effort to get a grip on herself. Finally, Kim pulled herself from him, trying hard to get control of the massive waves of emotion ripping through her.

She looked at him through her red, crying eyes, seeing his strained, worried face. She also saw the great fresh bloodstain on his shirt, long strands of her hair sticking to it and realized for the first time, the stream of blood dribbling down her face from the gash on her forehead.

That truly brought reality back to her, allowing her to look about. The First Guard was down, right were she had last seen him standing. He wasn't moving, the gun wasn't in sight. She looked to Ron with questions in her eyes.

"He's not dead, as much as I'd like him to be." Ron stopped and dropped his head as if in shame. "I was originally going to lead the others outside. If I had I wouldn't have been here to—"

Kim didn't hesitate. She grabbed his head and turned it to face hers. She then gave him the gentlest brushing of her lips against his that she could manage in her shaky condition.

"Later," she strained in a horse whisper. "We'll talk later. But your right, we have to get out or it will all be for nothing."

Noise then drew their attention. Just to their side, stood the scientist, Rufus standing frightened and shaking next to him. Kim had sent him, 'her backup' to free the scientist as soon as the second guard had gotten far enough away from him. All had been forgotten in the subsequent battle—

"Kahk dyela?" (Russian for "How are you?")

Kim looked at Ron and shook her head. Taking a deep breath, praying that her legs were capable of supporting her and that her stomach wouldn't rebel—"Help me up."

* * *

Ron could NOT believe this. Where before, there had been an absolutely empty horizon for miles and miles around, now the whole thing was _crawling_ with ships, submarines, and planes of every description.

And what he was hearing was even _more _unreal—

What he could hear of it.

For the all black Special Forces Blackhawk Helicopter was hovering barely two feet above the beach. Directly above it, two Marine Corps Super Cobras were standing guard. A formation of three other Blackhawk's escorted by six other Cobras were in orbit around the lagoon and flights of what looked like F/A 18's were streaking over every few minutes. It was altogether LOUD!

And that was why Ron was having such a hard time believing what it was that he was hearing when—

"What do you mean," Ron screamed back at Special Agent Smith, who was on his knees in the hatch of the lurching helo, Special Agent Smith standing behind him, "that none of this ever happened?

The black suited agent simply pointed down with one finger. "This aircraft, none of my personnel, nor me, ever touched down of this island. That is why we used the show of force and the loud speakers to have the mercs surrender. That is why we hovered here when we took them aboard. That is why we used the same loud speakers to bring you and the ah—item of interest to us. As we were never here, this never happened. It is that simple."

"But all this equipment?" Ron sputtered. "All those other ships and planes and subs out there? What about them?"

"Joint maneuvers."

"But—"

"Contact your man to arrange your own transportation back," Smith said with a final tone, closing the conversation. "I can say to you and Ms Possible, good job. No one else will. No one else will ever acknowledge this mission. But your service will not be forgotten." And with that, the big helo heaved up and cranked out over the lagoon.

Ron stood there, trying very hard to keep his jaw from hitting his knees.

When the formation finally wheeled away out of sight behind the trees at the far end of the lagoon, Ron reached onto his big pocket and pulled out the Kimmunicator.

"Wade, did you get all that?"

"Yeah," came back the disgusted reply. "I'm seeing what I can do for you guys but its gonna be four to six hours at least before I can get someone to you."

Ron felt his insides sink further. "Well, do your best. And let our folks know that we're gonna be late."

"Will do Ron" Wade then hesitated. "Ah—how's she doing?"

Ron looked up at the far figure, sitting on the rise where there was some breeze in the advancing twilight.

"She's acting like its no big but—" and he looked back into the pickup, letting his expression answer the rest of the question.

Wade read the meaning. "Yeah, well. I'll hustle your ride as much as I can."

"You rock Wade, later."

* * *

Kim heard his boots crunching in the sand/coral/dirt coming up the rise. She was looking out away from him, looking out toward where the sun had just set a few minutes ago. She had been watching it, just it, ignoring all those ships and planes, now receding into the twilight. All she wanted to see was the sun, the sunset.

She had come so close to never seeing another one again.

And it was so different from all the other times her life had been in the balance. Those had all been some kind of exotic trap involving a mechanical contraption, and/or a ravenous wild beast, and/or chemical mutant, and/or artificial laboratory life form or something else similarly bazaar.

This had simply been a trained killer, with a gun, trying his best, to kill her after he had taken just about the best shot she could give him.

Food for thought.

She felt him sit down on the ground next to her.

Did it change things? Should it and did it change her?

Right now, as scared inside and completely frightened of the world outside as she was, yes, things had changed. Should it change her? Had it changed her?

"Hold me," she simply said without looking at him. Ron put his arm around her shoulders. That was a good first step—

* * *

"Kim"—and he abruptly sat up, looking shaken, upset in the last vestiges of light as darkness fell.

They had been lying in the sand, cuddling, embracing, kissing, working their way toward she hoped, something more—

"What?" she looked up at him, confused, distressed, suddenly adrift, and scared.

"You need to rest," Ron pressed. "You don't need to get all worked up. You have open wounds and possibly a dislocated shoulder. We've been up over forty-eight hours. Why—why don't you just put your head in my lap and sleep? A nice nap."

Could she believe what she was hearing? Could she understand the meaning behind it despite how he tried to cover it up with words?

"Ron?" and she saw him wince with the pain, the naked desperation in her voice. "What I want, what I _need_ right now, is comfort and closeness and intimacy and something to make the scared little girl inside me go away."

Now as darkness was almost total, her tears were audible in her voice. "I told you that I wanted you to be my steady and serious boyfriend with everything that implies. I need you right now Ron. I _need_ you to l-l-lo—to l-l-l—oh damnit! God Damnit!" and a shuddering sob wracked out of her.

Ron reached down and though his hands were trembling, he firmly took her by her shaking shoulders. "This may sound cold and cruel KP, b—b—b—but you're reacting to a very traumatic situation. One that I will not t—t—t—t—take advantage of in any way. Now I w—w—will hold you, I will cuddle you, I will k—k—k—kiss your hair. But I—" and he stopped and it sounded like he had to force himself to go on, "_will not_ do anything more that we might regret at a later date."

Kim was shocked to silence, totally unable to make a reply.

In the darkness, Ron did not see her expression and could only assume that he had made his point.

"I know you love m—m—me," he said gently, "and although it may be hard to understand at this m—m—moment, but I am trying to show you just how much I l—l—l," again he stopped. His voice was a mere whisper when he finished. "I mean how much I respect you by refusing to do this. Believe me KP, it's better that way, for everyone."

And she felt him lay back down beside her, turn her gently onto her side so he could spoon against her back, being careful of her shoulder as he did so.

No more words were said.

But the tears flowed freely from her eyes.

As they did from his.

Hers were from a feeling of being lost, confused, maybe unloved, maybe angry—at him.

His were from hate, anger, and disgust—at himself.

* * *

You know what Shego really hated? Having to bite her tongue while she was walking down stairs in friggin uncomfortable shoes while wearing a friggin uncomfortable plain gray dress with her elbows chained into her waist, her wrists locked together and the friggin ceramic mittens on her hands. Her entire _being_ begged, pleaded to be making some kind of nasty running comments to somebody.

They came out onto the bus floor, her, and her four guards and down the wide main corridor they went. They came out of the high security area and only had to cross through the dispensary area before reaching the transport bay.

Then the alarms went off.

"What?" her deputy dog sounded annoyed as the other three who were just assisting him, scampered off looking for a chance at a good fight.

And, as he was _not_ supposed to be alone with a female prisoner there was only one thing to do.

"In," he said gruffly pushing her into one of the single dispensary holding tanks.

Shego managed to keep her face neutral as she turned around to face him.

"Any clue as to how long I'm going to be in this garden spot with a view?"

He shrugged. "They were moving some 4th Streeters upstairs where there's some HH boys working as trustees. My guess is they got into it. Probably a real furball. Gonna be a while."

Shego lifted her covered hands to him. "These are sweating up a storm. Can I get em off until we're ready to go?"

He looked unsure for a moment, then locked her in. After a moment, "stick your hands through."

After he had left, she sat on the single hard bench and allowed a predatory grin to come to her face. It was really quite simple.

High security areas had blocks and cells with automatic doors controlled from a central location. The doors themselves had multiple locking points and their tight joints did not allow for more than a tiny portion of her plasma blast to enter the gap to damage the actual locking bar (as well as whatever part of the door that she managed to blow away as well).

Then there was the door open/close mechanism to fight against as well. _Then_ there were the successive banks of the friggin things, cell, basic block, major block, section, floor. By the time Shego usually managed to get very far, an entire army was on her, attacking from all sides with stun guns, less than lethal projectiles, gas and the like.

The last time she had got majorly pissed off (let's not say hissy fit okay?) and actually went for it, she had ended up for a period in the Global Justice facility where she had been forced to watch Senor Senior Jr's Fairy Boy oh Boy oh Boy oh My God! Mother of a Concert after which she had promised herself that if she was _ever_ faced with that again, she would get herself convicted of murder and _volunteer_ for execution.

But here, in the dispensary area, all there was, was a single manually operated door, with a great big keyhole just perfect for plasma to burn through taking out the lock. And down the hall around the corner was a second door just like it that led into the processing area where she was first brought in.

And right next to that door—skies were blue and the sun was shinin.

Her grin grew as she waggled a finger and the lock on one of her wrist cuffs melted.

* * *

Bonnie sat on her bed and _seethed._ She had only been home three days and it was all she could do not to start strangling people. Her Mother, her useless, stupid, totally clueless Mother was treating her like a helpless three year old to the point where she was ready to actually hit her with something.

The only saving grace was that her two conniving sisters had gone on a summer trip somewhere, milking some rich guys wallets (in exchange for the guys milking them she was sure).

But right now she was reacting to the desertion, the _betrayal_ of better than three quarters of her posse, of her so-called friends!

_Okay, so—I got drunk and—did five or six of their boyfriends. I was stressed! You would think you could take that into account. BUT NO! They had to make a big deal out of it. I wouldn't of cared if they had did Brick._

So her posse, her source of power and prestige was basically reduced to the two loser girls who had been hangers on to others in the group, ones she just tolerated due to connections or something that made them good to have around.

_But they're still losers. Don't event have boyfriends. Well, maybe because one will sleep with _any_ guy, no taste, or class what-so-ever and the other's dad is a friggin criminal or something that scares all the guys away_.

Well, they were all she had to work with and they _seemed_ to be loyal to her (but she was trusting no one). She had to get them squared away no sooner than yesterday, get them into the mall and start looking for new girls just coming into town or coming up from middle school to start to fill out the ranks of a new posse.

And Bonnie had to make sure that they were aware of just what her plans and goals were so that if they saw something when she wasn't around, they would be able to recognize it and let her know.

That meant that Bonnie _had_ to make them want to stay loyal to her and have to be loyal to her. She had to get them _hooked_ to her, lock, stock, and nimble little bodies. And there were several ways to go about achieving _that._

All of which she was more that capable of doing.


	4. Reactions

"Ron," he heard his Mom call quietly as she stuck her head in his door, "are you going to eat?"

"Not hungry Mom, thanks anyway," he replied listlessly from face down on his bed.

Mrs. Stoppable gave the standard concerned/worried mothers frown but withdrew without a further word. She normally did not like to interfere in affairs involving him and Kim and she was aware that the mission six days ago had been exceptionally rough, with Kim spending an overnight stay in the hospital for observation for a possible concussion and that she was now undergoing 'counseling' for something.

Whatever it was, it had her Ronnie all depressed. Sure, he had gone through this cycle with Kim too many times to count, almost to where she and her husband expected it. But this one was exceptionally bad.

And there had been some hope that they becoming 'involved' might have relieved some of the pressure (personally she didn't think so. As much as she liked Kim, she was way to pushy for her little Ronnie. He needed a nice, quiet girl to settle down with) but so far (obviously) that had not happened.

So, with a sigh Mrs. Stoppable went to wrap the lunch she made for him up. Maybe he would eat it later.

* * *

Kim sat on the MPT bus, eyes wide open but unseeing. She was on her way home from her third session with the 'counselor' that her Mom had helped set up and the entire hour session was playing endlessly through her head. 

Why had the woman asked _that_ question? Why had _she_ answered that question _that_ way when she had really meant it _this _way? And now that she had a chance to think about it more, while she had answered _that_ question _that_ way, the really truthful answer for it would be _this._

Kim lowered her head and rubbed at her temples with both hands. She had a headache.

Too much was a blur. Too many questions were still unanswered within her own head—

Too many questions she didn't know if she wanted answered—

And too many raw emotions, which were burning raw edged and sore.

Kim had been pointedly ignoring Ron, not speaking to him, not acknowledging him, not looking at him, since that evening on the island. Not on the boat that picked them up, not on the plane that flew them home, not when she was in the hospital, not when he tried to call her since—.

And now, now that her own fear was starting to recede, now that the counselor was starting to make her understand some of her own reactions and feelings for what had happened—

She was feeling really bad.

But her confusion, her doubt, was still there. The hurt, the ego. Her instincts about Ron—

She needed to talk to Monique.

* * *

Monique's eyes lit with worry and hope when she spotted Kim coming in the doors of Club Banana. She turned and waved at the other girl working behind the counter, "Robin, takin a break," and Monique didn't even look for an acknowledgement. 

Kim had stopped barely three steps inside and stood waiting for her girlfriend. As Monique approached her, she saw the superficial things, the large square band-aid on Kim's forehead, the now purple bruising to the forearm. But as Monique got closer, she saw the pale, drawn face, the hesitant look in the eyes, the tired, uneasy air that clung to Kim like a cloak.

_Could it have been any worse,_ Monique mentally shook her head. _As close as she could get to having her butt shot off followed by a major blow out between her and Ron. And I don't know which one to yell at because neither is talking. But I can't ignore the fact that she's totally cut Ron off—_

Monique did force a bright smile on her face as she stepped up. But she did not force lightness and gayety into her voice. That much she knew would be crossing the line.

"Hey girlfriend, hanging in there?"

Monique actually took a little breath in when Kim gave her the first genuine _smile_ that she had seen since before—well, you know.

"I'm getting there." But Kim immediately dropped her head and sighed. "But of course, there are lots of problems still." She didn't look up, but she clearly set her shoulders and forced out, "and I really, really need to talk to you about Ron."

Monique's face instantly took on the 'anybody gets in our way and I'm going right _through_ them look', took her by the arm and said very distinctly, "lets-go-sit!"

* * *

They were tucked away back in a far corner near a fire exit. Other than furtive cigarette smokers and an occasional couple for a quick smooch, no one usually came back here. They were both down cross-legged on the cold concrete floor, Monique resting her chin on a fist propped on one knee. 

Kim was picking at her nails. Not that there was anything to pick at. But to Monique, it was a clear sign of her nerves and distress.

"And that's pretty much it," Kim finished, suddenly deflating like last weeks balloon. Her hands plopped uselessly into her lap and her eyes fell to the blank concrete floor in front of her.

And Kim said and did nothing.

Finally Monique asked, "have you talked to Ron about this at all? Have you asked him why he's been so reluctant to—get involved?"

The "no" came out flat and dead. It was followed by, "the fact of the matter is, that since that night, I haven't talked, or seen him at all."

Monique nodded to herself grimly at that, that single statement confirming what Felix had told her._ We are talking major hurt here_ Monique thought_. And now she doesn't know how to do damage control. And does she want too?_

Monique slowly came back down, leaning in close, so she could ask, very softly, "are you still angry with him?"

She was speaking to the top of Kim's head of course as the other girl had dropped it so far down. Monique waited with stopped heart for a reply. And waited. And waited—_This is not good_

Finally there was a very small shake—no—of Kim's head, and hands came up to the hidden face as if tears were being brushed from eyes.

Relief flooded Monique's being. True, she really wasn't _sure_ of the motivations of Ron's actions either. But the boy didn't have a malicious bone in his body when it came to his friends. For whatever reason he had done what he had done to Kim, THERE WAS A REASON. It was just up to them to figure it out.

Yes, Monique agreed that what Ron had voiced to Kim sounded abnormal for any red-blooded High School boy from around here. But there very definitely _was_ a Knight in Shining Armor side to Ron Stoppable. It had been displayed often enough when he had selflessly interposed himself into situations where he _knew_ he was going to get creamed but he did so anyway because he was standing up for something that was right!

But that reason went with the first reason and both of those were just some of the things that made him _Ron_ and somehow, she didn't think that Kim was looking at it from that point of view. And while Monique was uncomfortable with the idea of herself as a 'counselor', she was also Kim's best 'girlfriend' and at times, those two became one.

And this looked like one of those times.

"Okay," Monique continued, just as quietly, "so your no longer angry. But I would guess that your hurt and confused and don't have any idea of what you should do."

It didn't take nearly as long this time for the head to nod—yes.

Monique leaned in _really_ close, reached out and put a hand on the good shoulder (which was trembling) and said firmly, "you need to talk to Ron."

The hunched redhead shot upright, her red, tear-filled eyes wide open, "MONIQUE!"

"KIM!" Monique shot right back into her face, stopping her attack before it could get started.

Kim hunched back onto her butt, the fight going out of her, her shoulders sagging. But her head stayed up, her eyes on her friend, questioning. She was biting at a trembling lip—

"Ron," Monique started with hesitation, "is not like all the other boys you've been—for lack of a better term, heavily emotionally involved with. Think about it. He's been your best friend for _how_ long. And it's _got_ to be a hard transition for both your heart and your head in—certain—things. But have you two _ever_ talked about—how you felt—or your what your views were on—some—areas?"

Kim looked at her, and after a moment, had to shake her head. "I don't understand," she pleaded.

Monique brought her hands up, somewhat in frustration, "I—" There's_ no easy way to do this._

"Have—" Monique started, and she tried to keep from gritting her teeth as she asked the question. "Have you—gotten intimate—with any other boys other than Josh?"

Kim turned the color of her hair and lowered her face but—she really did try to maintain eye contact with Monique (but you could tell that it was taking everything she had to do so).

"We never did anything—" she murmured, her voice tailing off.

"I know, I know—" Monique said gently, trying to make this as easy as she could. "I know you never, you know, but you also admitted that other things got pretty heavy." Monique smiled. "I think sometimes you were trying to make _me_ jealous." She dropped the smile and urged, "but—was there anyone else though?"

Kim closed her eyes and a shudder ran through her. It might have been a laugh, it might have been a sob, but whatever it was, it was such a godawful sound that it startled Monique. But her attention came right back to the barely whispered words—"there was a boy, a Senior in Cheer Camp last summer."

Kim had to stop there as if thinking it back over now was painful. Her voice ached when she said, "He was gorgeous! He was from Block City. I knew I'd probably never see him again." Tears dripped off her cheeks. Kim sucked in a deep breath and continued. "Nothing serious happened because he was in awe of me, of who I was and it was enough that I was—undressed with him. Just kissing and—some other stuff—" what sounded like a small sob wracked through her, "I felt so guilty afterwards, really—just—just—" and a sudden vent of anger filled her face—"and if I could get Ron to even do THAT MUCH with me!"

"Kim," Monique said with some force, "the point that I'm trying to make here, is that you have been—somewhat intimate with all of two boys. Both of whom you were violently crushing on, both of whom you eventually got over and moved on from once the, ah—affair was done. How do you think they felt about you?"

Kim's eyes just watched her, her features worse than awful, but there was no attempt to answer the question. So Monique answered it for her. "You would like to think that Josh at least loved you, at least quite a bit, at least for a while. That senior, he was in AWE of you? And no meanness or joking, I'll bet that made you feel real good."

Kim then totally dropped her eyes and head away and didn't look back up. There was a mighty 'sniff' and she rubbed at her eyes. Kim then said, as totally and completely miserably as it could possibly sound, "do you think I'm like Bonnie?"

Monique sat fully upright, allowing the anger to _flare_ in her eyes, and actually _hissed_ through her teeth, "where in the _hell_ did you come up with _that crap!_"

Kim recoiled slightly but made no other defense of herself.

"Look-at-me!" Monique with the full force of her personality. Kim reluctantly dragged her eyes up to meet her friends, shame, and self-loathing filling her face.

Monique then said, practically snapping in her friend's face, "don't go reading crud into this that isn't there. I haven't made my point yet so don't make it for me thank you!"

Kim's cheeks reddened again and she swallowed against her anxiety. But Monique refused to release her from her gaze as she continued.

"As far as any difference between you and Bonnie or even between you and me, the fact of the matter is that your _you!_ Your curious and adventurous about love, you've had opportunities to try things that I haven't had, you've got the guts that God knows, half the girls in school never hope to have and in this particular way, your no different than some average girls who are just a little bit more aggressive than the rest of us."

Monique then threw her a scornful look, "and Bonnie? Get off your horse girl! In all of your cases, all TWO of them I might add, where you never got any farther than things that caused very heavy breathing, AND you were at least involved with boys that you had some kind of very heavy thing for."

"Ms Rockwaller on the other hand," and now Monique's voice just dripped with sarcasm, "I don't think she knows what crushing is. I don't think love or romance even enter the picture with her. I'll go as far to say that I don't even think she even does it for the pleasure of it. She does it, and we really mean IT, lock, stock and smoking barrel, not just 'heavy breathing', for the status, the prestige, and above all else, the power and control, of either the boy she's with or the girls in her posse, and I would VERY FIRMLY BELIEVE that she's done it a few more times than TWICE!"

Monique then leaned in close and bodily threatened Kim with her eyes. "Don't you DARE compare yourself with Bonnie or I swear I'll kick your butt, sixteen styles of Kung Fu or not!"

Kim looked at Monique, the corners of her eyes watering, and it was all she could do against a choked tight throat to croak, "thank you."

"Don't mention it," Monique said with a frown. "And I mean it!" she added with a nasty look.

Kim actually got the double meaning and almost managed to get one corner of her mouth to come up slightly.

"Now," Monique started, blowing out a tired breath, "as I was saying before your trip down self destruction highway, we were talking about Ron, you know, _your boyfriend,"_ and Kim winced as the emphasis.

Monique lowered her head just to make sure that Kim could see her eyes. "I'll ask again. Ron's been your best friend for how long? So long that I'll bet that in certain ways, you two see each other more like brother and sister than boyfriend/girlfriend." She left that statement hanging as if a question. Kim eventually responded with a noncommittal shrug. Monique then asked, "If the tweebs were the same age as you, would you tell them about how that date went with Josh at Middleton Park Boathouse?"

Horror blew up Kim's face. "Are you out of your mind—"

Monique held her palm up 'stop'. "Now put Ron in the same place."

Kim's face was now deeper than the color of her hair. "Monique, he's RON! I don't talk to him about things like that!"

"And that's exactly what I'm talking about!" Monique shot back sticking a pointed finger right into Kim's nose. "He is now your one and only true boyfriend with I believe, 'everything that implies'. He's now more than your 'best friend' for life, he's certainly more that a brother could be although I have read of some siblings who are close enough to share those kinds of problems but that usually occurs later on in life."

Monique withdrew the hand and tried to make her face wise and caring. "You have to think about the fact that you have to start learning to communicate with Ron on a new level here about new things. At the same time, your right, he's Ron and I think that is both a help and a hindrance."

Kim had to half close her eyes and put a hand on her forehead as she tired to work it all out. "I'm still confused," she admitted.

Kim," Monique's exasperation was now at the max. "Ron's been your best friend since Pre-K, you've grown up together as Best Buds! He may know you're a girl but I think the concept of you and 'sex' in the same sentence just may not really exist for him. You're going to have to talk to him and get him to accept and get comfortable with it. You're also going to have to talk to him and find out _his_ side. How does he look at things in that realm and area? Didn't the thing with his being so uncomfortable about you two cuddling up in front of me and Felix surprise you?"

When Kim, with a look of sudden uncomfortable understanding on her face, nodded, Monique went on. "Well, God knows how many other little things are out there in him that he doesn't like. By the same token, there just might be more things that he does like. But you wont know if you two DON'T TALK ABOUT IT."

Confusion was rampant across Kim's face, her mouth was open, but no words were coming out.

"And another point that I'll raise just to play Devils Advocate. In certain ways, Ron's pretty conservative. His parents are certainly straight laced, which _has_ to put pressure on him and there's the fact that I don't know anything at all about whither his being Jewish might effect it or not. But could it be that he feels that what your looking for right now is better left alone until you guys are properly and legally married?"

Now complete horror came over Kim's face as she sat fully upright, staring at Monique as if her friend had just pronounced her death sentence.

"This," Monique urged, "is why you have to _talk_ to him. Find out what's going on, what his feelings and opinions about it are? You guys are not communicating and _everyone_ knows that's the basis of a strong relationship, partnership, and eventual marriage. And if you don't start working on it now—"

Monique reached out and placed a gentle hand on her friend's leg. "You've been soooo use to taking the lead and Ron following. And for the most part, he and you been doing just that with your relationship and you two have been having a real good time—until he encountered something he was really uncomfortable with. You want too, in your usual way, keep right on charging ahead, expecting him, as he always has before, to eventually get over his fear and come running up behind you." There was a warning look in Monique's eyes. "He may not be able to do that this time. If it _is_ moral or religious, he may not be able or willing to bend those rules, even for you. And would it be fair and loving for you, to try and force him to?"

Monique glanced at her watch. "I'm a half an hour late on my 'break'. I have to get back."

Monique looked back up, reaching out to take Kim's hands. "None of this if for certain but none of your questions or problems will be solved unless you two _talk._"

Monique squeezed Kim's hands with a pleading softness in her voice. "Please talk to him, honestly."

Monique then climbed to her feet and silently walked away.

Kim sat there for the longest time. Thinking over what the counselor had said, thinking over what Monique had said, reviewing her own thoughts. It was all well and good to receive their advice but she could only use certain portions of it.

The reason being?

Kim wasn't being anywhere near totally honest with them as far as her feelings and motivation as to why she wanted her and Ron to come together in the ultimate way.

The reason being?

Those feelings and motivations scared her so very, very much.

Later—

_I can do this, I have to do this._ Her hands were shaking. _Monique's right. We have to talk. Like soo much, I wont be able to tell him everything, and I _know_ there's something—something else in him that's making him act the way he is. Something _he's_ not telling me. But our—relationship, means too much for both of us for me to allow it to go on like this. Whatever our problems are. Somehow, someway, we'll work them out. We've got to work them out!_

She stopped and considered something else. She knew that in several ways, she was the one at fault for what was happening. In order to give them both breathing space, she would have to calm down, back down, stop being so aggressive and forward. It would be best, for the both of them if she just—she would have to change things, several things, in order to try and make things easier for the both of them.

_Please God, I have to do this. I lo—lo—God! All right, how I just say that he means more to me than life itself and leave it at that okay? Geese!_

* * *

Ron's phone beeped. It was the text message signal. 

It was probably Felix or Monique trying to find out how he was. He was tempted to ignore it, but at this point, he couldn't afford to loose any more friends.

And the reason being is that it looked like he'd lost his best friend, and not by any fault of his own other than his following a solemn promise made to somebody else.

Ron held up a hand, and Rufus, who had been listlessly lying on the messy worktable, rose and slunk over to the phone. He then started to work his way around the room to him.

Whoever had sent the message might be impatient as there was a second beep.

That almost caused him to throw it away totally. He was _not_ in the mood for pushy people.

It pissed him off so much that he grabbed it from Rufus just to see just who it was he was about to toss.

Kim:-----ron, nacos and an apology, my treat?

He stared at the message; as if unable, unwilling to believe that it was real. He brought up the second one.

Kim:-----i'll get on my knees and beg ifi have too.

Now his brain really froze. The very thought of Kim begging him for anything—Then his phone beeped for a third time. He brought up the message—

Kim:-----i'm sorry, i'm so very, very sorry. please forgive me.

With fingers trembling so hard that he had to back up and retype every other word—

Ron:-----two nacos grande will suffice. that, and a quiet afternoon in the park—if that's okay.

Kim:-----done,i feel sooo bad ron.

Ron:-----so do i, see you there.

Now all he had to do was resolve himself to continuing to lie to her about his reasons and feelings even as he struggled to control those very same things. But he would do it for her. He would accept the pain within him and try to ignore the pain it caused her and hoped that their love and their relationship could last out until other things didn't matter any more.

* * *

* * *

Bonnie was in a real quandary.

She heard that Little Miss Perfect and the Loser were currently on the outs.

Now this was nice for she wished them both all the pain that she could possibly imagine. And frankly she was tired because this whole revenge thing was turning into a whole lot more work than she had anticipated. She had actually forgotten how much she had been able to fob off on the members off her old posse and she was currently having to run her butt off and she _hated_ it.

At the same time, she knew that somehow or another, those two would probably get back together and would be lovey dovey again. Her plans were still nebulous (too much depended on who got plugged into what positions once school stated and the hope that Possible would maybe forgo some of her normal activities to spend time with her 'beau') and her new posse still hopelessly lame, but she had contingency plans to fall back on for just about any situation. One way or another, Possible would FALL!

Bonnie just hated to work.

* * *

* * *

It felt soooo ggggooooooooooooddddddd!

Shego had her green/black fighting togs back on, her hair decently washed and combed out, _and_ she'd had taken the time, (a girl _has_ to have priorities you know) to have a manicure done before she'd jumped into a hovercraft and taken off to recover her boss, Dr. D.

But now she allowed the perplexing thoughts to screw up her features. What was he doing in the prison ward of the State Mental Hospital?

_Did the success of the Diablo's make people think that he was that dangerous? Since we were that close to actually taking over the world that might be it. But still, the cracker shack? That just seems wrong._

Well, he wasn't going to be in there long.

It was just prior to lights out time when she came screaming in over the perimeter wall of the facility. As it was mainly a hospital with just a prison _ward_, security was shockingly light.

_Ya know, you would think these bozo's would at least, you know, get a clue after all these times I've busted us out that once I'm gone, he's next._

Sure, there were two guards that came out into the yard and raise handguns at her. But a fusillade of quick plasma blasts sent them scurrying back inside.

_Ooooohhhhhh, that felt soooo goooood._

Shego swerved up over the building, scanning with the hovercrafts sensors for—

"_Okay Dr D, check out time, hope you left the maid a good tip. Wait, what am I saying. You never leave any tips. I get stuck with them all._

_Why do I bother?_

Shego made her run, firing a maximum two handed blast that took out the wall, immediately throwing the craft into auto hover and allowing its momentum to carry it toward the fresh hole in the side of the building.

Shego sprang from her seat with a tuck and roll (_jus gots ta look good should someone be watching)_ in through the opening even as the dust cloud and debris was still raining down from her blast.

"Dr D!" Shego called into the thick white cloud. "Ten thirty express to Zurich, the meter is running, and I'm double parked! Get it in gear!"

"Well," came the familiar voice but with a most unfamiliar tone. Shego was frozen for a second, wondering against all odds if this had been a trap. Then Drakken came out of the cloud and she _saw_ him.

It was Dr D. There could be no mistaking him. He was even smiling. But it was not _his_ smile, the kind of looney-goofy I'm a crazy mad scientist smile. This one was deadly serious.

Just like his voice. It wasn't the high-pitched, ultra stressed 'Shego why did it take you so long-you never give me any respect' one that normally grated her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard when she rescued him. This once was—

Calm, reserved, ready to do the job at hand.

As apparently he was for he gestured toward the hole behind her saying, "shall we my dear, the evening and the outside world, awaits us."

_Holy crap!_ Shego was as shocked as she had ever been. _Maybe he is mental._


	5. Reaction Actions

Kim finished wrapping Ron's birthday present, a DVD of the 'best of' his favorite wresting heroes. She then sat down and wrote the accompanying card, signing it 'I Love You - Kim'.

She had to stop and consider this. They had been 'back together' less than a week but it was— not the same. She knew that he was holding something back just as she knew that she was not telling him (or Monique, or the counselor) everything that was going on in her own head.

So while the two of them were pretty much as inspirable as they had always been, their relationship was—it wasn't even back more or less to where they had been when they had been 'just best friends'.

And yes, she and Ron had talked. But both of them had spent so much time beating around the bush that they had really gotten nowhere.

_After all_ Kim thought as she gazed sadly at what she had just written on the card, _what right do I have to call him on his feelings when I can't even express my own with any kind of clarity or consistency. If I can't talk honestly to him, to his face, about the way I feel about him, if I can't use the words I need to express the depth and passion that I feel, how can I even hope to try to convince him to overcome whatever it is that's holding him back?_

_And what right do I have,_ she chastised herself with a heavy sigh, _to go after him when I think he's holding back, hiding something when I'm doing the same thing. I can't tell Monique, I can't tell the counselor, I haven't even attempted to talk to my Mom, they just couldn't, wouldn't understand. I _could_ tell Ron but only in the right way. . . at the right time. And that wont happen with what's happening with him! With us. So it's an impasse!_

_Why,_ she moaned to herself, rubbing her forehead, _why do I have such a hard time talking to him about these things? He's been my best friend forever. We've talked about so much, our hopes, our dreams, our problems._ Then she had to snort derisively at herself. _I even use to moon over Josh with him. How he ever managed not to get either hurl or hit me I'll never know._

Kim then looked over at the picture of her and Ron taken on Prom night by her Dad. Her 'rents had gotten her a big 8X10 of it in a fancy frame and it was on her nightstand.

_I know—_I know_ he loves me. I'm desperate for him. We're meant to be together. But it's hard right now because there's this unknown wall between us. And we're both responsible for it and it's getting bigger and neither one of us can seem to break it down_.

And she thought back over the last several days, their time together, how it seemed that it was truly even less than what they had know as 'best friends'—

_We don't joke, we don't laugh, we just sit and mope around each other like we're at a frigging funeral. At times we try to talk, but it's stilted, all strained and sensitive. The one mission we've been on was horrible! We're all out of sync, he was worse than distracted, I felt like a klutz, like I was sleepwalking I'm so tired—_

For one of the few times in her teen life, Kim really didn't know what to do.

Then came the familiar tone of her Kimmunicator—

"What's the Sitch Wade?"

Wade's eyes seemed to go a little wide when he first saw her, but it passed in a second and he went right on with what he called her about.

"Just thought you'd like to know that I finally got an I.D. on your mysterious captive."

At least this was something to take her mind off of her personal problems. "And just who is he? Weapons of Mass Destruction specialist?"

Wade sipped at his soda. "Actually, no. But _you _might not think so."

Kim's face folded in a frown. "What do you mean?"

A stock 'file photo' of the man from the island cave came up on the screen. "Dr Ilvalich Vaultaslof. Theoretical Mathematician, Biologist, and Computer Geek specializing in the preliminary research side of the development of artificial laboratory life forms."

Her frown got bigger. "And I know him like how?"

You could _hear_ the smile in Wade's voice. "He's the man that did the original mathematic/biological computer modeling that resulted in the development of Snytho-plasma—"

"From which all the Syntho-Drones have come," Kim finished with a sudden loathing for the man. If she had known that—

"Maybe the reason why—" Wade started.

"Never mind," Kim brushed it off, trying to get a grip on her sudden anger. She's had too many jumbled emotions of recent. She didn't need more. She took just a moment to get a grip before asking, "any idea what all the drama was all about? Did he develop something new? Something that maybe we 're going to have to worry about one of these days?"

The photo vanished revealing Wade's perplexed face. "That seems to be the missing winning Lotto Ticket. All information regarding his recent research seems to have vanished into one of your Dad's Black Holes. I haven't even been able to figure out why everybody was after him except for the fact that everybody else was."

"How about the mercenaries?"

"Same Black Hole. I can't even confirm their existence they're so deep."

She sat, wishing she had some kind of nervous habit for times like these to take her frustration out on. "Do you have any guesses Wade?"

He shook his head slowly. "None that I'd be willing to bet with Ron on. I'll keep digging thou," and he got an evil look, "got my curiosity up."

Kim gave him a weak smile. "Don't let your curiosity bring the lovable Smiths down on your neck Wade. Be careful."

He gave a jaunty wave of his hand and with an "always" he cut the circuit.

She dropped the hand holding the Kimmunicator carelessly into her lap. Something was definitely up. But could it simply involve the world governments? Well, that was _usually_ not her problem—_and never again without a full briefing well in advance._

Well, right now it was not. Right now she had to go and meet Ron to give him his present. And somehow, she just wasn't feeling anywhere near as excited about it as she was prior to a week previously.

* * *

"What am I gonna do Rufus?" 

Ron wasn't even looking at his Mole Rat. He was sitting in 'their' booth at Bueno Nacho, gazing out of the window. He hadn't really expected an answer from his hairless friend but _had_ he been looking, he would have realized that Rufus had already eaten _all_ of the grande's on the table and was on his back, bloated beyond speech.

But Ron's mind was on other things. Or specifically—

_It's like the fires gone out of her,_ he mused sadly. _Of course it has. Throw water on the fire and its gonna go out. And I threw an entire swimming pool at her. But what choice did I have? What choice _do_ I have? Who's trust do I violate, who's line do I step over?_

He threw his face into his hands. _I'm in an impossible position. I can't win either way. We would have been better off staying best friends or even just friends. Maybe—_

Ron heard the front door of the restaurant open and his head/eyes swerved around. Once again he felt the cold stab of the terrible hurt inside. Her red hair was pulled back in a severely tight braid. Plain, dark tee shirt, _borrowed from her Mom_ so that it was long enough to be totally tucked into her plain work jeans so that no skin showed. No makeup—

_Not Kim! This is not Kim! This is not my Kim! And there is only one reason for it—_

"Hi," she said sweetly with a frail smile. She leaned in and gave him a very chaste kiss as she slid into her seat, shucking out of her backpack as she did so.

_She's trying so hard to act normal,_ Ron thought. _But that wasn't a Kim kiss and her eyes aren't as shining, aren't as alive as they use to be._

Kim turned her smile to a half grin as she reached into her backpack. "I thought," she said in a secret sounding voice _that_ _you can hear her depression and fatigue in the background with_, "that I'd better get this to you now in case a mission comes along and we get tied up tomorrow." And with that she pulled the present and card out. "Happy Seventeenth Ron. One more to the big one!"

Now, thinking back over all his thoughts of the last couple of days, he felt _really_ bad. They were struggling really hard, they both knew it even though neither wanted to admit it, and she had done _this?_

"Kim," Ron let the wonder fill his voice. He took both but set the present aside, opening the card. This caused Kim to suddenly look uncomfortable. He read the card—and felt his eyes mist.

"Kim," and Ron's voice cracked before he could utter a second word. She heard this, she _saw_ his face, and despite her best efforts, he could see that she was suddenly afraid—

Kim made a move as if to take the card back. "Ron, I'm sorry if the card upset you, if what I wrote was too much—"

Ron didn't look up from the card. He just shook his head and said tightly, "no, it's just that—" and he couldn't say anything more as he wiped his eyes with a thumb. He looked up at her, determined to express his gratitude, only to see that she had actually turned away from him, looking _ashamed_ if that was possible.

Horror broke out within him as did the realization—_I can't keep this going any longer,_ Ron realized. _It not fair to her! It's hurting her! It's tearing her apart as badly as it is me! And I don't care about me, but I love her and I wont see this happen to her! I wont see her hurt any more! _

Sudden rock-solid determination caused him to move and he slid out of his seat, Kim looking up with misty eyed surprise. "What—?" was all she could ask.

Ron scooped Rufus up and deposited him into his pocket, saying, "lets go for a walk," but refusing to meet her eyes as he did so.

Surprise, and more than a little bit of apprehension showed in her face as she gathered Ron's gifts up from the table, returning them to her pack. They left the remainder of the meal uneaten.

* * *

It took Kim the longest time to figure out just where Ron was walking too. It was Middleton Park. By the time they got there she was hot and sweaty and more than scared and shaken. Sure, she had written in the card what she wasn't able to voice, how much she loved him and how she hoped they could work this difficult period out. But his reaction— 

While they had walked the entire distance, Ron hadn't so much as looked at her or spoken a word. His hands had been buried deep in his pants pockets. The look on his face?

Kim knew it all too well. Ron was terrified. Of her? Of what she had said in the card?

As a result, _her_ insides were wound as tight as a Spinning Top of Doom.

Once they were in the park, their destination went without saying. Their tree that they had taken to spending so much time lying under. Ron reached it, turned and flopped down against it, and still didn't look at her.

Kim quietly sat down on the grass just off his side. There she waited.

They must have sat for a good half hour in silence. Ron staring at the grass in front of him, Kim watching him with growing concern.

Finally, she could stand it no more. "Ron?" she started softly—

"I think we should—call off being—involved," he said with a dead, flat voice. As incredulous disbelief filled her face he added, "and I think we should just completely stop seeing each other even as friends for a while."

"What? she said in a whispered breathless scream at him as she came up onto her fists and knees. That was all she was capable of at that moment. She stayed in that position, her whole body and being was suddenly an inferno of surprise, disbelief, hurt, agony, betrayal, anguish and barely suppressed anger that beat against the boy before her.

And Ron brought his face up into that inferno. It wasn't calm by any means. He was frightened, miserable, defeated, sorrowful. But he was also determined and that allowed him to say, "I think it's for the best Kim. Right now this relationship is hurting us, is hurting you, and I can't, I won't, allow that to happen."

"Don't _I_ get any say in it!" came the mournful, miserable, pain wracked, fully choked reply.

"I'd say you've had your say," he shakily pointed out. "It's called the current way your dressing. It's called the current way you're acting and grooming."

That caught her clearly off guard and before she could form another thought or rebuttal, before she could state why she was acting, dressing the way she was—

"And I'm as much to blame," Ron continued, guilt and loathing hovering over him like a black cloud, "because," and he had to stop due to his own anxiety, "because I haven't been totally honest with you. And I _can't_ be totally honest with you about something which we both know has been majorly screwing us up the last couple of weeks. Because that thing involves a promise I made to someone else."

_That_ stopped her dead in her tracks.

Kim actually had to stop and close her eyes, regroup her thoughts and playback what she had just heard him say more than a half dozen times through her own head.

When she finally was able to open her mouth to speak, her whole body was trembling so hard with wrath that it was a _visible_ thing.

"What your telling me," she grated, her voice as low and angry and deadly as he had ever head it, "is that the thing you've been keeping from me, and I _know_ you have, the thing that I know has been there causing us so much of the grief between us _ISN'T EVEN BETWEEN YOU AND ME!_ It's between you and someone else? Who? AND WHY?" she screamed as the tears suddenly flooded from her face.

Ron's face was as pale as a ghost, to the point that he looked ready to faint and was fighting it. His voice was wavering, cracking. But he plunged on. He'd gone this far, he couldn't turn back now. "I can't tell you who. That's the problem. Look how angry you are just knowing that something is going on between us and a third party that involves our relationship—"

"GODDAMN RIGHT!" Kim shrieked at him, livid with rage at the very thought. "What right do they have—"?

"How about the fact that we're still teenagers," Ron shot back into her face, overriding her, the terror in his face at her rage evident, but his determination right there as well, "that despite our 'saving the world', we're still 'under age' and subject to certain rules regarding such. And I for one respect such rules especially when someone, an elder of authority whom I respect asks me to do so. And it doesn't matter, nor should it, who that elder was. My Parents, your Parents, my Rabbi, your Minister, Mr. Barkin, IT SHOULDN'T MATTER! An elder said something to me, I accepted it, you don't need to know who it was because you'll only blow up in their face like your doing with me right now."

Kim shot to her feet, her entire face as red as her hair, her entire body a massive knot of angry tourqued muscle. "You think I would—you really think I couldn't control—that I'm not capable of calmly—"

Ron looked devastated but he had to answer honestly. "They didn't think so. All things considered, neither did I. Look at yourself right now! Can you do that Kim? Can you look at yourself? Look!"

"YOU—YOU—BASTARD! AAARRRGGGHHHHH!" Kim howled like an angry wolf before turning and stalking off down the hill, leaving a crushed Ron to contemplate the end of the one true love of his life.

* * *

Kim didn't think that she had cried this long since Panda-roo had been accidentally left behind at a visit to the Doctors office. The crying spell had lasted the entire time from the discovery of the loss until long after the plush doll had been restored to her and she had at last accepted, hours later, that it was truly back. 

Panda-roo was getting an equal workout this evening as she buried her face and sobbed into it, her pillow, her sheets, whatever was handy at the moment. The _only_ saving grace was that she had the house to herself this evening with her folks out of town and the tweebs attending a sleepover.

Her cell phone had started ringing three hours ago, her house phone an hour later, the Kimmunicator about forty-five minutes ago. She hadn't even looked at them.

Her stupid pride wouldn't let her.

Kim had literally _stormed_ her way home in a fit of rage unlike any she could ever remember. Her intention had been to take the Prom photo of her and Ron and stomp on it until it was tiny shards.

But the reality was—by the time she had actually reached home, her own good common sense had started to assert itself, using the current and shocking spectacle of her own self to confirm the argument against her without the necessary use of words.

What had followed was a period of embarrassing introspection and shameful self-questioning in which she tried to be as honest with herself as she could. And while that was only partially successful, (she was after all being _less_ than honest about a lot of things right now), it had made Kim see the truth in Ron's words, made her see the reason for his misery over the past couple of weeks and made her appreciate all the more, that hidden strength that he displayed when the chips were down and some really difficult decision really had to be made.

And of course she was shamed. For her screaming at him, for her storming out on him, for her not being able to have the same strength as he did to face him and at least meet him, argument for argument, no matter how difficult the subject or painful and frank the talk might be.

How could she get so angry at him when she was as much at fault as he was? Because she was guilty of her own weakness and jealous about how this just might be another of those rare areas (like cooking and his business/managerial skills in Bueno Nacho) where he was actually better, more knowledgeable and mature than she was.

It would have been so simple to calmly admit that she had changed her looks, her moods, her actions to try and make him feel more comfortable while they tried to work things out. But now she saw just how phony that had been, how phony _she_ had been, and part of her rage was the fact that Ron had unknowingly called her on it and she had reacted in piqué and shame.

Or perhaps she had been changing, she didn't know. Her counselor had said that there might be reactions like this, of confusion and identity considering her normal strong, dominate personality and her deeply buried anger and resentment toward Ron's 'rejection' of her needs (and what that had taken for the therapist to dig _that_ out of her). She realized belatedly that _that_ was another source of her rage at Ron, especially considering that he was 'breaking up' with her.

Kim groaned with her face in her hands. What had she done? First she couldn't tell him how she felt about him, now she could only rage at him instead of trying to work out their problems. Was their relationship doomed because of her and her inability to cope with all these extreme emotions? Was she, like Monique suggested, unable to handle not being the one in the lead, the one in control, always expecting Ron to follow like a faithful puppy?

Kim had no idea why or who the 'Elder' was that had asked Ron to do whatever. She was equally clueless as to what the 'whatever' was. But whatever it was, could she assume that Ron had to be interpreting it as the reason why he was refraining from getting involved in a serious physical relationship with her? And knowing Ron, once he made that kind of person that kind of promise, he would stick to it—

Even as she had been trying to push every one of his buttons to get him to do the opposite.

She wouldn't even try to speculate the identity of the Elder. To do so would only beat her brain to death and make her suspect people _she_ loved and respected. That was water under the bridge.

But what about her problem? Her secret? Her fears and her—issues?

Those were of course a reaction to what had happened on that island. The very thought of it, while it no longer terrified her, left her feeling disturbed and empty, a need unfulfilled.

But could she allow that to destroy what she had with Ron?

Kim sat up on her bed and took a moment to look down at herself. For the first time in days, she took a good look at herself. Not what she saw on the outside, that she had done on purpose to try and make Ron feel more comfortable (and was now revealed to be a hollow joke). What she saw on the inside of herself, frightened her almost as much as her secret. Could she allow it to destroy herself?

Could she allow it to destroy—them?

* * *

Monique had about worn a hole in her carpet as she paced back and forth in front of the foot of her bed. She had been alternately calling Kim's cell and home phone for the past several hours. She, in final desperation, had resorted to contacting Wade and had _begged_ him to try and get Kim via the Kimmunicator. She was ready to actually go to Kim's house and drag her out by her red hair— 

Monique's phone rang. She sprang at it like a jungle cat because the 'ring' was Kim's programmed one. "Kim!" she practically screamed into the receiver, "are you okay? What is going on with—"?

"Monique," Kim's voice came back low and slow, causing the Black girl to halt. Monique had heard what supposedly had happened and had expected her friend to be crying. This quiet voice scared her.

"Kim," Monique repeated, "are you okay?"

"Do you know where Ron is?" No other words.

"He—" Monique stated but hesitated. "Why wont you tell me if you're all right?"

"Because I'm not," came the pained voice. "Because I'm a fool and I need to find Ron and apologize and try to make things right again."

Monique blew out a silent breath of relief and thanked God for several things. But—"Ron told Felix that you two broke up and that you took it pretty hard."

There was a long moment of silence before Kim's voice came back saying, "that's wrong Monique. Ron broke up with me. For _my_ sake he said. And I got incredibly angry, shouted at him, cursed him, and ran away from him."

Monique took this in. She agreed with Ron's estimation of Kim's behavior recently but she hadn't realized that it had reached that extreme with him. Tomorrow was Ron's birthday. Had Kim done something with that to trigger this—drastic reaction?

"If," Monique started tentatively, "Ron really broke up with you the way you say and if you did what you really say you did, in the way I think you would, do you think it's a good idea that you try to talk to him this quickly? Don't you think you should let him calm down a little?

Now Monique could hear tears in Kim's voice. "I think I hurt him Monique, I didn't make him angry. I need to apologize before the hurt really goes home."

Monique heard the pleading in Kim's voice and knew that there was no way of getting around it. "What do you want me to do?"

"Can you call him for me?" Kim asked quietly. "I'm afraid he won't answer if he sees it's me. Tell him that I still have his birthday present in my backpack and that I really need to give it to him tonight if we're ever going to remain friends. Have him meet me in front of Josh's mural in the park."

"It would probably be better if I have Felix call him, but consider it done." Monique sighed.

"Thanks," Kim said with a shaky voice. "I'll talk to you later."

"You better," Monique growled. "And—good luck."

Monique heard what sounded like a whimper on the other end of the phone before it clicked.

* * *

Ron could not believe that he was really doing this. He had only taken the phone call because Felix had called his Mom and told her that it was an emergency. He had almost gotten angry with Felix (needing some kind of release for the pent up agony and frustration inside him) when Felix had insisted that Ron actually promise him that he would go and meet Kim. But he had managed to use some Monkey Kung Fu Zen and divert his anger (at least at that point). 

Even after that he had seriously considered backing out. Sure, Kim had been mad at him before for one dumb thing or another that he had done. And then there was the 'rage' episode from his 'breaking up' with her while she had been under the influence of the moodulator (a very ironic thought at the moment). That had been awe-inspiring and at the time had almost driven him away from her lest he _ever_ make her that mad again.

But the fact that this was so raw and scary in its intensity and no product of any artificial outside source made him aware that there was a side to her that he could not, probably would not be able to ever control. Frightened, terrified, petrified! None of those words even came close once he had a chance to rethink her reaction, the literal _flames_ coming out of her eyes, the volcanic force of her voice.

Ron was so shaken that he had tentatively come to the reluctant conclusion that it just might be better if he end his relationship with her entirely.

His Mom seemed to like the idea. She had been making oblique hints about it for weeks, how he should find a girl who was a little less 'complicated', one who led a little more 'normal' life that wasn't quite as 'demanding'.

But Felix had indicated that Monique would threaten him with bodily harm if he didn't go, promising that Kim had calmed down and that Kim had promised that all she wanted to do was give him the gift and go.

So, in the warm early summer evening, Ron stood under the wall where Kim's former 'crush' had done one of his best know art works and waited for her to come along. Ron actually wondered if Kim had picked this spot on purpose for one reason. One former boyfriends work would watch another boyfriend become former.

"Hi?"

Ron almost jumped out of his skin, whirling around to where Kim was just slipping around the edge of the stonewall. Ron placed a hand against his chest and tried not to sag into a pile on the ground. "Geese, you scared me to death. You could have given me a little bit of warning?"

But Kim just stood there, a sad, forlorn look, almost her 'puppy dog pout' on her face. Ron looked at it, her, and—he didn't know what he felt. He had expected her to still be mad, upset, something, anything . . . . . but—this.

"Ah, Kim, what?" was all he could say. She just continued to look at him.

Finally, with a shaky voice, Ron managed to get out, "Ah, I understand that you have something for me?"

Kim nodded sadly, and started to walk toward him.

But then Ron actually _looked _at her. He didn't see her backpack, didn't see anything in her hands, couldn't tell if there was anything in her pockets and she was coming right at him.

"Ah Kim, what are you—?"

Kim was right on top of him when suddenly she reached out and grabbed his around the neck, saying with a choked voice, "apologizing" before kissing him very hard.

Ron was shocked and actually started to fight to get away. Kim broke the kiss and tried to hold on to him with her arms tightly around his neck, begging him, "Ron please, listen to me! Please, if there's anything I've ever asked you to _really_ do for me, it's now! _Listen to me!_"

Ron stopped fighting but he didn't relax. His hands were still firmly against her collarbones pressing her away. His body was still and unresponsive, he had turned his face away from hers, refusing her his eyes and his mouth.

"I'm sorry," she told him, trying to pour as much feeling into it as she could. "I overreacted. I didn't think and I was a total bitch! I'm really, really sorry for what happened earlier. I'm also really sorry for the way I've been acting. You're absolutely right, I'm wrong, and I don't like what I'm doing either. I want to be me. The one you love. And I want to be you're—yo—y—"

Again Kim choked on her words, damning the fact that she _still_ couldn't say what she needed to, but she forced herself on. "I've thought a lot about it. I can't live with the thought of a world without you in it, by my side every single day. I'll do whatever I have to do to make sure that world remains ever in place. I only wish I could tell you exactly how strong and how much my feelings and passions for you are but I can tell you that without you, I will not _want_ to live."

Kim actually _felt_ Ron react to that statement. He stopped pushing against her; he loosened up and pulled himself back so that they could look into each other's faces. She saw a mixture of surprise and yes, horror in his features as her words sunk in. She grabbed his eyes with hers and held them with the passion there.

"Yes," Kim said with feeling. "I mean that _exactly_ as it sounds. _That's_ how strong my feelings for you are. So I'm telling you right now that I _refuse_ to let you break up with me. I want you, I _need you_ too badly to allow you to do that."

Ron saw her take a deep breath and the look on her face told him that she was about to say something that she found uncomfortable but which needed saying. "And let me thank you from the bottom of my heart for having the courage to finally reveal your problem that has been causing us so many difficulties." His eyes dropped as if from embarrassment. But Kim's hand came up and pulled his eyes back to hers. "Don't," she growled. And Ron felt a stirring in him.

It sounded like his Kim was back.

"I too," she told him, and Ron could hear the naked honestly in her voice, "am guilty of holding back things on you." Kim had to stop and square herself before— "But what I wanted, what I needed, were foolish desires while yours was a promise to a respected elder. Therefore, mine must yield to yours—"

His eyes went wide. "Kim—" he started."

"Ronald," she cried to him, tears springing into her eyes, "we were changing, I was changing, we were falling apart! You said so yourself and the fault was primarily _mine_ because I was trying to force you into something you couldn't do! And when you couldn't do it, I overreacted, changed the way I looked and acted, trying to make it easier on you and you took it as if I was falling to pieces and maybe I was because here I am, looking like DNAmy on a bad hair day—"

Kim had to stop, suck in a breath. When she reopened them, she put the full power of those deep emerald eyes of hers into his and opened herself up fully. "I'm forceful, pushy and headstrong. I want and expect my own way. I'm curious and adventurous. I can be forward, bold, and brazen when I really want something badly and I can often leap without looking. Face it, would I be saving the world on a regular basis at sixteen if all this wasn't true?"

Ron just nodded his head yes, being held by the power of her eyes.

Kim took in another deep breath and dropped the other shoe. "Now, take all those factors, and put them into the wonderful mysteries of teenage love and—and where that can lead two healthy young people who have feelings for each other and you might get some kind of an idea of how hard it is for me to hold back."

Ron actually sagged into himself; the misery, self-hate, and loathing clear in his face. "Kim, don't you think that I haven't thought about that long and hard? Don't you think that wasn't why it's made it so hard for me in the first place? Yes, I made a promise to a respected elder. That never meant that I didn't, and that I don't—it's just that I cant—"

Kim actually felt the blood drain from her face

"Ron," she breathed. "D—do you mean that?"

He actually managed to almost give her his goofy grin. "Well, Booya!"

* * *

They had actually moved, to their tree, first sitting, then lying in the warm comfortable darkness and they had _talked._

It was hard, it was difficult, it was nowhere even near complete by any means. But it was honest, it was from the heart—

And it was a start

Kim still had not told him any of her secrets but now she realized that they were past it and it wasn't necessary. It was still a raw sore in her psych that she should probably discuss with her counselor but she was just as likely to see if it would just fade over time and disappear.

And Ron did not give up any more information on his. She respected that.

They did try to talk out their differences about how to deal with any problems they might have in the future. Kim was _very_ chastised when she truly realized just how badly she had shaken Ron with her rage and she was very forthright with him about her anger, about how she dealt with it and about how, over the years, her parents had dealt with her dealing with it. She also tried to explain that this particular incident was different, caused in part by her trauma from the island and he seemed to accept this with much relief.

And their relationship—

Kim was simply overwhelmed to know that Ron thought her attractive and sexy (and that he had been just too shy and tongue tied to be able to say it to her) and that was enough to satisfy her at this point and for some time to come. She did pledge to him (and to herself) not to allow herself to get to carried away to the point where it would start crossing into Ron's zone of discomfort.

And Ron realized that she was a _girl_ with needs and ego that had been fired by their relationship but otherwise had been left dry and starving. He found himself actually _horrified_ at the thought of thinking of her like that after so many years as friends. But he also saw how she had been stroking his ego all along and that he had been perfectly blind to her very legitimate needs. He realized that he needed advice badly as to how to properly care for a healthy young lady within the parameters that he could allow. In the meantime, he would just have to trust to the Ron Factor and stumble along.

They then spent some time cuddling, taking things right up to the edge of Ron's comfort zone.

"Kim," Ron finally said with great reluctance, "its after eleven. I know your parents aren't home but I'm the one whose going to be soo dead if I don't get back."

"You could spend the night at my house?" she ventured slyly.

"Unfortunately," he replied with even greater reluctance, "my parents are aware yours are out of town."

Kim stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well, if your gonna be that way about it," Ron said sharply as he went in after it—

When they both managed to finally force themselves get to their feet, their arms wrapped around each other and they started to walk home.

They were just walking by the wall with Josh's mural when Kim stopped them.

"My backpack is hidden in the bushes behind. If—the worst happened," and Kim had to dip her head slightly, "you would have at least gotten your birthday present as a parting gift."

Ron reached out and tipped her head back up. "I've got the present I really wanted right here, you back in my arms."

Kim looked back up at him and Ron's heart racing to see the shining light back in her eyes. She took a breath, holding it for a moment before saying, "I know that we still have a lot to talk about, and that we're still both hesitant and scared that we could still hurt or misunderstand each other unknowingly—"

Before Kim could go any farther, he stopped her with a kiss. She was startled. But just for a moment before she melted into him. When Ron broke it, he said softly, "of course we are and or course we will. But if we just remember this—" and he kissed her again and Kim realized—_he knows that I cant tell him that I lo-lo-lo, that I'm his, so he's allowing me to show it this way, without words, but with all the feeling._

It was a good minute before they broke again. Kim reluctantly pulled away from him, "just a sec—" and ran around behind the wall.

Ron stood as if in a daze for the amount of time it took Kim to come back around carrying her backpack—

Ron frowned.

Kim stopped. "What?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

Ron was looking very 'seriously faced'. "I'm afraid that I find something completely unacceptable Ms Possible."

Kim looked down and around her and could only repeat, "what?"

Ron started to slowly walk up on her. "Turn around," he said firmly.

Kim got a wary look to her face. "Now wait a minute, if you think I'm going to fall—"

Ron stopped, and with a perfectly sober, firm, serious face, he intoned, "Kimberly Anne Possible, turn around and stand still. I promise I am not going to strike you in any way."

The wary look didn't leave Kim's face but she did turn around. Her eyes moved about as she listened, she held her breath as she heard/felt Ron come up behind her—_if he tickles me I'm going to hurt him!_

Then he touched—her hair?

Shock and wonder took her for the moment—_what is he doing, he's—_and she choked up so hard that she almost couldn't breathe. _He's taking my hair down._

And Kim closed her eyes and thrilled, luxuriated in the feel, the sensation of Ron's clumsy but determined work to released her hair from its unnatural, tightly confining braids. Her pulse was racing, her breaths started to come quick as the feeling built in her and it took _all_ her willpower to stay still, keep her hands down (let alone to herself) and to shout to her inner being that she would _not_ break the pledge she made tonight no matter how badly she wanted to right now.

Finally, as she felt it at last, fall loose and free to it's accustom range around her back and shoulders, Kim felt ready to fall bonelessly back into Ron. But then—

"RON! What do you THINK your doing?"

"Hold still,"

After the entire gist of their conversation tonight and he was pulling her tee shirt out of the waist of her jeans? She started to grab at it/Ron's hands/anything—"RON!"

"TRUST ME!"

All at once, at those words, Kim just stopped, for she did trust him, with her life. After that, what was a tee shirt?

Ron completely pulled the shirt out of the jeans, deftly rolled it up and under against her tiny mid-drift and started to pull the excess to the small of her back, tying it into a tight knot which meant—_he's turning it into a crop top for me,_ and the whole thing was so overwhelming to her that silent tears were instantly streaming from her eyes, running down her cheeks as she stood, allowing him to finish, her mouth hanging open as she tried to suck in air before she literally started to sob from happiness.

When he was done, he gently kissed the back of her neck through her hair, sending shivers from her head to her heels. He then whispered, "welcome back KP."

* * *

* * *

It was a hell of a party.

Bonnie's smile bordered on cold and cruel as she stood in the background and watched proceedings. This was the first big blast for the members of her new posse. There were also a couple of potential recruits here along with some other 'sources' to be exploited so she was in for a busy night.

Of course they were much too young to be at a wild college frat party in Upperton but that had never stopped her before and Bonnie had been able to use contacts she had obtained through her sisters phone books (without their knowledge certainly) to attend these with—interesting results.

And of course that was the reason why the party wasn't happening there, but at this secluded campground owned by one of the Frat Kids parents. Bonnie had 'advertised' it to her girl's folks as a pre-semester cheer training camp and had manipulated her Mom into the use of the van to drive the girls up here herself. One of the older Frat Kids had phoned the Mom's as a 'camp counselor' to avoid the chaperone question.

A wild giggling scream heralded an impromptu dance on a picnic table by one of her girls with rising shouts from all the boys urging her to do various interesting things. It was Darlene Goody. Bonnie's smile grew colder and she took out her digital camera (she was so glad she had taken photography as an elective).

Darlene's parents were _both_ on School Board advisory panels, her Father on the one that regulated rules for the cheerleading squads and made decisions regarding little things having to do with things like maybe the Regionals and just maybe the Nationals this year.

As Bonnie watched, Darlene, who had probably _never_ had had any alcohol before, was now definitely showing a wild side that probably _she_ didn't know she had.

Bonnie raised the camera and started to snap away knowing that these were just the first taste. It was only a matter of time and patience and pictures were certainly a way to assure loyalty and cooperation in the future.

From both her girls and very possibly, their parents.

* * *

* * *

Shego had been sitting for better part of several hours not knowing exactly what kind of emotions she should be feeling.

It was a toss up between elation and fear.

She had no idea what had happened to Drakken. But whatever it was, it had happened big!

He was _usually_ calm, cool, collected, organized, clear headed, articulate. She had just finished listening to him spend the last two hours in a multi way conference call with several of his agents world wide, reestablishing contact, getting status reports on their particular sections and/or projects. This has left her amazed, elated.

But there was something else. There had been a deadly seriousness, an almost frozen, piercing drive to him that actually _scared_ her. It had taken her a while to see the pattern, but it was definitely there. And it was maybe a part of the Drakken of old brought to the extreme—

Interrupt him; contradict him with anything other than an absolute obvious fact, promise, and fail to live up to that promise—

There was none of the old whining, the long tirades, the pompous speeches extolling this, that, or the other thing—

His face would get rock hard, his eyes became like emotionless beads of black glass, there was no expression on his lips, but his entire being radiated fury.

His voice was the most scary part. Low, controlled, just enough of a hint of anger to send chills—

It was what that voice said—

She had never known him to be capable of ordering punishment.

There was no violence—yet. But somehow—Shego had the feeling—that the capacity was there.

What in the _hell_ had _happened_ to him? Where was the soft, sort of buffoonery side of him that was—_him?_ The side that made him—a safe mad scientist. It was nowhere to be seen, heard or felt and it frankly left her feeling more than just a little bit—

"Shego?"

She jerked her head up from her woolgathering to find him looking at her expectantly. In the week since she had freed him, this was the first time he had spoken directly too her. Another thing she had found to be extremely alarming.

"I have had no input from you as far as why you think my last scheme was a failure. Do you care to make any comments?"

Shego looked at him—

She blinked—

She looked at him some more—

She blinked again—

"You're kidding, right?" she said, her disbelief plain.

Drakken closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking as if he was actually feeling pain at her reluctance.

"Shego," he said, with obvious restraint in his voice, "I would be remiss if I did not avail myself to your talent, intelligence and experience in a multitude of areas and disciplines as well as your record of accurately pointing out my previous mistakes when dealing specifically with our primary foe, Kim Possible. In order for the scheme that I have in mind to succeed, I want to have all bases covered well in advance and I would be a fool if I did not take advantage of a source as knowledgeable as you. So please, as hard and plain as you like, where did we go wrong the last time?"

Shego tried _very hard_ not to allow her jaw to hit the table. "Ah, Doctor D, are you really, positively, absolutely sure that they did nothing really weird to you in that Cracker Shack while they had you in there?"

And she immediately regretted it, as his face took on the stone look and the anger came into his eyes—

"Okay, okay," she gave with a (very) nervous laugh, a disarming grin, and the feeling that something was _very_ wrong. Shego tried to settle her insides and—"well, the thought stuck me that—"

Shego really had no idea of just how long she talked. She was appalled by the fact that not only was Drakken apparently listening to her, he sat down, started to take notes, and occasionally interrupted her to ask questions, some of which she couldn't answer.

Finally, horse from her own nervousness and strain, it was all she could do to say, "and I just feel that the old saying should apply, 'divided they fall' if you get my meaning."

Shego's eyes had been locked on Drakken who was leaning back in his chair, taping his lip with the end of his pen, apparently nodding with agreement.

"Yes," he said quietly. "It makes perfectly good sense to me and would explain much about our repeated failures over all this time."

He was silent for a moment and then gave a firm nod as if making a decision. "Very well. I believe that you are absolutely right in this. Therefore, as I am to be completely tied up in my part of the project, I am assigning you the responsibility of breaking up Team Possible in whatever way you see fit."

"What? Me?"

Drakken looked at her squarely. "Why not you? It's your idea. Why shouldn't you carry it through? You're tough and responsible enough. And certainly resourceful and evil enough to do whatever it takes. I think you would take it as a delightful challenge?"

Shego looked at the Doctor and took in his words.

"Well," she said as she heard him and slowly, a smile came to her face, "if you put it _that_ way—"


	6. Summer Days

Ah, the days of summer.

* * *

Ron and Kim, in the park, her laughing joyously as he pushed her on the swing, them cuddling under their tree, them talking, both bad— 

"No," Ron said sharply, for once as angry as she could get, "I don't care what you say, this is _not _a subject for discussion!"

Kim's eyes flashed with fire and her voice spat, "no, _your_ wrong and this is just another example of just how silly, immature and narrow-minded you can be and you can't even _see_ it in this!"

"How _dare_ you," Ron breathed, as if she had just made the biggest indiscretion possible in living existence.

"Ron!" she yelled at him at the very top of her voice, "Rufus is sometimes _smarter_ than you are! He doesn't need a three hundred item list of baby sitting instructions!"

And good—

"Kim," and the pain was plain in Ron's voice as she lay in the crook in his arm with her head pillowed on his shoulder, "I've already know a thousand times how stupid I was to even put the suggestion into Senor Senior Sr's head that they become evil. We've been paying the price ever since."

She abruptly rolled up onto him, her narrow frame barely covering half of his, her free hand coming up to take his cheek—

"Ron," she said with a soft, tender tone, "I know all that, and that's not what I'm trying to say."

And he was suddenly blank face and speechless, his whole being lost in those liquid emerald eyes.

"And your right," she admitted, "I was angry with you at the time. For allowing the whole thing to happen by the way you opened your big mouth, by the way you were acting with your stupid makeover and by the fact that the Seniors got away in the speedboat you told them to have. But the point I want to make right now is—"

And Kim pushed herself, sliding up his body until her face was millimeters from his, her voice now soft, sensual, "was that you did save me from the Spinning Tops of Doom from which I was exhausted, out of breath and at the end of my endurance and at the time—" and she paused, closing her eyes and changing her voice to a passionate whisper as she came in even closer, "I never properly thanked you for that," and with that, her open mouth came forward the necessary millimeters to give him his reward.

* * *

Sleeping quarters of the Princess of Saudi Sudi— 

Three figures swinging of ropes burst in through the windows. The Princess, only her eyes visible in her fully covering robes/shawls came fully upright in the bed. Alarms started to scream. The center intruder started to reach out to grab the Princess, his intention to yank her bodily from the bed—

And his arm was instead grabbed, twisted and he was given a full body flip into an ornate table, which smashed under him.

The other two intruders reacted instantly, pulling out edged weapons as the Princess, now springing up onto the bed, her coverings falling away to reveal a fiery-haired beauty poised in a fighting stance. She smiled a predator's smile and she breathed, "let's rock."

Kim went after the one on the left with a hop and a skip then a forward flip over the flashing blade and into a flying dragon kick that knocked the intruder straight back and out the window. But the second one was behind her and already slashing down—

"Wrong!" cried Ron; at last managing to untangle himself from where his shirt had caught on a sharp edge of the ceiling air conditioning ducting. He came straight and true, straight down, landing atop the back of the second intruder, driving him to the floor, kicking the knife out of his hands, adding a finishing chop across the neck to put the man out.

"Sorry I'm late KP," he grinned at her.

She was looking at him in a bemused way. "Did you have to leave half of your shirt behind?"

Ron glanced back at the mostly missing back/shoulder of his mission shirt and then shrugged. "Hey, I'll take it over my pants any day."

At that moment, the double doors to the Princess's bedroom burst in and the Security Detail with the King himself at its head thundered in. In moments, the intruders were in custody and they were hustled out.

"Thank you Kim Possible," the King started.

Kim threw her head and hands back and forth in her trademark way, "hey, it was no big. Besides, I had help and they deserve the same credit I do—" and she reached out to grab Ron.

At that moment the Security Heads radio squawked something in the native tongue and the King nodded his understanding.

"You are right. That was our search unit being guided by your, what is it called, Naked Mole Rat, to the infidel that disconnected the perimeter security systems that allowed our home to be breached. We owe our debt to all of you."

Ron just shrugged as he looked sidelong at Kim with a loving glance. "As my partner here was saying your Majesty, it's no big—"

* * *

Ron and Kim, Felix and Monique went to the Middleton Fair to watch the Monster Trucks. They played the Midway games, Felix winning a big stuffed doll for Monique while Ron failed miserably to win anything. But Rufus won a doll for Kim in the ring toss and blushed when she kissed him. Ron and Felix tried a speed hot dog eating contest and Kim had to Heimlich Ron when he choked on a dog. 

The four of them hustling, girls vs. boys, at basketball at the elementary school yard down the street from Monique's house. Ron, Felix, and Monique at Ron's house, cheered on their wresting favorites as Kim sat to the side of the couch and visibly winced at the ridiculousness of it all. Monique and Kim power-shopped their way through Middleton Mall as the two boys (and one naked Mole Rat) just looked at each other and shook their heads in disbelief. Kim and Monique sprawled on the floor, checking the latest fashion mags for further trends as Ron and Felix played the latest release of Zombie Mayhem.

The two couples lay out under the stars, watching the night sky. Monique, curled up atop him in his chair, lay across Felix's lap, cuddled up into his side with their heads cheek to cheek, her arms tight around Felix's neck. Ron was leaning against the side of Felix's chair with his legs spread wide, Kim right up against him, the top her head just below his chin, his arms tightly around her bare midriff with her arms tightly over his.

Silence under the clear Colorado mountain night sky with all its brilliant stars. In it, four friends and two sets of young lovers met and bonded together in a way only those who have been there could know.

And have pity for those who never will.

* * *

"Come on little one, in you go," Kim shouted to the frightened child over the roar of the helo rotors. The United States Navy Crew Chief reached out to take the child prior to passing her on to one of the Islander Adults in hope that there would be a happy reunion with a parent at the other end of the flight. 

Kim, relieved of the child, turned and trotted away from the helo, right back out into the drenching tropical downpour that pounded on her once she was clear of the radius of the birds blades. Her eyes searched frantically for any remaining signs of life in the village, praying that all were accounted for. Wade had been able to get only the single Carrier Strike Group diverted for the rescue mission and their range had been extreme with time for just the single flight. They had to get everybody the first time—

And the helos were badly overloaded.

It was raining so hard that visibility at times was down to under a hundred feet just due to the massive amounts of driving water. It was raining so hard; Kim had to keep a hand below her eyebrows to keep _some_ of the water out of her eyes. She was way past wet, soaked, drenched. She was so completely saturated that it was like she was walking around on the bottom of a swimming pool with breathing gear on. Her hair weighed a ton, her mission clothes clung and bound her, and she was running out of time.

She saw a pink form scurrying toward her over the ground.

"Rufus!"

The Mole Rat leapt into her outstretched palms. "Is Ron alright?" Kim asked anxiously.

"Uh ah!" Rufus replied with a happy nod that sent water flying into Kim's eyes. But she felt immediately better. Ron had been helping get the Islanders animals aboard the big cargo helos with Rufus's help. If Rufus was here?

"Are you guys done?"

"Yep," with another happy nod.

She jerked about as the loudspeaker on the last helo barked, "Ms Possible, radar has the satellite debris on final reentry. We have to be well clear of the impact zone."

Kim was reluctant to leave the village without a visual check of every hut but—

"Did you see anyone when you came through?" she asked Rufus."

He shook his head no _and I've got to hold him far enough away so that I'm not blinded every time he does that._

She headed back up to the helo. "If you can confirm," she yelled to the Chief," that my partner is aboard one of your other ships, we're ready to go?"

After a moment, he gave Kim a thumbs up and she climbed aboard. Things were so tight however, that the only room for her was sitting on the doors edge with her feet on the landing skid. Fortunately for her, dangerous positions such as that were no big although it drove the Crew Chief crazy.

As they left the island behind, one of the bigger helos came in along side and though its gapping rear hatch, Kim saw Ron wave at them (Rufus was firmly inside one of her cargo pocket). Ron did this just as a goat bit him in the butt.

Kim and Rufus laughed about it all the way out of the Danger Zone.

* * *

The Possible and Stoppable families went for a shared day at the lake. The tweebs had set up in a tree to record 'unauthorized cootie making activity' on the part of their sister and her boyfriend when they went around the point, out of sight from the camp. But Ron had conducted a strategic first-strike in the form of a Naked Mole Rat that deftly led a rather offended pair of mated birds to the twins precarious perch and ultimately resulted in the loss of the camcorder to the hard rocks below and a pair of male ten year olds rather badly pecked on their exposed skin. The teens basked in the warm sun on the beach listening to the calls and cries with really huge grins and went about their cootie making activity.

* * *

"Wade?" 

"Still working on it."

"Kim, these robot arms are getting awful tight!"

"I know, Wade says he's 'working on it'."

"Well, tell him to hurry!"

"Wade, Ron says to hurry! I think they've got him around the neck."

"I am hurrying."

(GARBLED) "Choking" (GASP!)

"Wade! I'm losing Ron!"

"Got IT!"

"Ron! Are you ok?"

"Oohhhh. Sick and wrong."

"You ROCK Wade."

* * *

Ron had to make an adjustment. 

Kim in a bikini.

She didn't wear one often due to her skin sensitivity and the fact that she didn't want to freckle (redheads). And certainly she had worn one before but now, just the thought that he was allowed, privileged, _honored,_ to come near, and even possibly (shudder) come in direct physical contact with all that exposed, _bare,_ _NAKED _skin and—(horrors), Kim might even ask him to do something like—(gasp) _put suntan lotion on her back and legs._

The very thought was almost more than he could handle. He might, blush, _choke,_ _PANIC_!

But she did, and he did—(wore one/panicked)

And she did—(asked him to put lotion on)

And he did—(panicked)

And she grinned—

And after a while, he did too.

* * *

The Steven's were entertaining a client from Mr. Stevens's ad business. Over after-dinner drinks, they were involved in small talk when the clients wife, who had been looking at the lovely orange sunset out of the windows suddenly brought her hand to her mouth and— 

"What is that?" she exclaimed pointing a finger.

Mr. Steven's looked over and squinted into the twilight. It only took him a moment to identify what she was pointing at. "Oh that. Just Para gliders."

"You mean like parachutes?" The client asked, now seeing what his wife was seeing. "They look like their coming this way."

Mr. Stevens smiled. "No, not here. The house behind us actually."

Surprise blossomed on both of his guest's faces and the wife actually voiced it. "You mean," she asked incredulously, "that someone actually does that into a residential neighborhood. And this late in the evening. And you act as if it's normal. Have you called the police about it?"

Mr. Stevens smile grew into a grin. "No we don't actually. You see, that's Kim Possible's house behind us and that would be her and her boyfriend coming home from one of their missions."

"NO!" said both client and wife, now glued to the window, watching the descending Para gliders with rapt attention.

* * *

Ron of course accompanied the Possible's on their vacation. 

Kim and Ron held hands as they led the way through the caverns, grinning like idiots at each other the entire way, their matching thoughts on just how many caves they had crawled through looking for some evil persons lair.

Kim was forced to hold his hand to try to keep Ron upright as her family used in-line skates down the beach boardwalk. It still didn't keep him from crashing into _three_ sets of vender's carts.

Mr. Possible frowning rather deeply as Mrs. Possible, with a warm, bright smile, led him back to their table after the sight of two certain teenagers who were staring deeply into each other's eyes as they shared a single milkshake with two straws.

* * *

The Stoppable's were adamant about Ron coming on their vacation to Australia with them. So Kim once again Mole Rat sat Rufus (with much less Drama thank you) and it was all the two teens could do not to talk for _hours_ (for Kim, very early in the morning) over their phone/Kimmunicator every moment they could. 

After Ron's return—

* * *

Kim leaned back into the side lounge of the small private jet, trying very hard not to think about the reaction that would be awaiting their arrival home, wishing feverishly that Wade had been able to arrange some transport that had included a change of clothing to get her out of this ridiculous so-called dress she was wearing and at the same time, savoring the heavy feeling in her lap but wrestling with the feelings within herself. 

_Damnit,_ she snapped at her own inner voice, _I thought I had put all these fears to rest._

But a part of her realized that for as long as they continued doing what they did, the fears would never totally go away. And the proof had his head in her lap, the rest of him stretched out on the side lounge seat as he slept off the painkillers that were holding the agony from the harpoon wound to his left thigh at bay.

_And maybe my actually punching him in his pretty face,_ Kim thought fiercely, _will convince Senor Senior Jr. that I'm not his stupid Blue Fox and he'll leave me alone! Being kidnapped by him was _not_ the way I wanted to spend _my_ Seventeenth birthday!_

Her eyes then fell down to the face looking up at her, tired and etched in pain despite the effects of the drugs. She felt herself choke as she gently caressed his sweat-encrusted hair. _And of course my l—l—l—(sigh), you know what you are, you came to get me, you challenged him for my hand, and Junior, now that we know that he was trained by Shego was not a pushover, took you up on it. But you fought him, and again, I really got to see what happened to you in Japan, with that—Ninja school and with the Monkey Kung Fu. But you were finally winning, and if his Father hadn't interfered, you wouldn't have been injured._

She had to close her eyes as she choked further. _And you could have died fighting for me if Senor Senior Sr. had had his way, and there wasn't a damn thing I could have done about it as trussed up as I was. And that—scares me again. It brings—those thoughts and feelings from the island out again. And I fear that, I fear them—_

_Because they're so powerful._

_Ron, you truly are my world. I couldn't live without you, and I cant _tell_ you damnit! It makes me want to show you how much I do and I promised not to, not to cross that line you drew—_

_And it's hard—_

_Because I'm afraid—_

Because I'm scared that— 

She felt him stir and she called on all her will power to control her emotions. As he had made his promise, she had made hers and she would not break it.

Her Kimmunicator sounded its tones—from Ron's pants pockets.

Rufus, who had been curled tightly up on Ron's chest as if warming his heart, immediately scurried down and popped up with it, handing it to Kim.

She was too tired and emotionally worn to even give her normal greeting. "Yes Wade?"

"How's Ron doing?" Wade was plainly concerned.

Kim looked down and Wade could see the love and concern in her gaze. "He's still out but I can tell he's hurting. The stupid thing actually tore out a big hunk of muscle so the hole is open and raw."

Wade _winced_ and paled a little. "Ugh, TMI. But I guess your Mom got a report from the local Doc's and will be at the airport with the ambulance."

"Good," was all Kim could say at this point.

"Something else," Wade added with a tag to his voice—

"What?" she asked warily.

Wade looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I'm getting indications, and I _stress_ indications, that some of those—individuals that were interested in our friend Mr. Vaultaslof, are suddenly very excited."

Kim's eyebrows went up. "Why the drama? Did he get loose or did someone else get him?"

"What I'm guessing," Wade said carefully, "is that someone got something else of his (that made her eyebrows climb even higher if that was possible). The problem being is that I'm having to translate several different languages regarding the intelligence including Russian and Chinese. The raw data I've been able to find however, even in translation, I find to be very interesting."

"How so," she asked with a frown.

"Well," he said with a certain amount of uncertainty, "it's hard to make a literal translation, but with some of my web friends helping, what we seem to agree on, is that _all_ of the, quote 'equipment' unquote, in Dr Vaultaslof's office and laboratory were physically and totally removed from the building, apparently after the roof was taken off to do it."

"Drakken," she blurted.

Wade nodded. "That's the only reason why I'm going with this translation because that's his usual method. The facts are less than sketchy and this is more rumor and word of mouth than hard fact, but it's singular enough and _strange_ enough that it's got to be him if in fact it did happen."

"Any way to confirm it?"

Wade shrugged. "Been trying for three days and two of my friends in other countries have received 'visitors' from 'interested' government agencies. While I think I've been more careful—"

"No Wade," Kim said firmly, "we'll just assume at this point it is Drakken and go from there." She sat and thought for a moment. "I'll have a talk with my Dad, see if he can hook us up with any of his scientist friends who might be able to get our foot in the door with whoever has the security blanket on this. We don't need to be hauled off in the middle of the night if this is as bad as everybody seems to be treating it."

"Agreed,"

She then looked down at Ron. "I don't know how soon we can move on this though. He's not going to be in any shape to do anything for a while."

"There's always Global Justice," Wade offered.

Kim winced. "Like I really want to work with Du again."

Wade shrugged. "It was just a suggestion."

Kim looked directly into her viewer. "I appreciate the info Wade. Keep on it but don't do anything to endanger yourself or any of your friends." Wade saw her glance back down at her lap. "My birthday will be over by the time we get home and taking care of Ron's pain is all I want for a present now." She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. "He's already given me the best present anyone possibly could anyway."

Wade smiled knowingly. "Take care Kim, and happy Seventeenth."

"This qualifies as more than you rock, Wade. This can only mean—thank you, thank you very much."

* * *

* * *

Bonnie hated these times.

She had been told that the black depression was something she should fight and tell her counselors about and faithfully take her medications to avoid. But the fact was that she welcomed it, she embraced it because it helped her sustain her anger, her hate, when she got tired and when she didn't want to do all the work that she was having to do to accomplish her ultimate goal.

But this was something else—

And she had come to hate this.

She missed her ballet.

She truly missed this—and she hated that and she hated herself for it because she couldn't afford such feelings and weakness!

But it was the one thing, that had been hers alone. It had been clean, and bright, and delightful and it was the one true thing in which she could call her own and say that she had done all on her own and made it her own and could separate her from her sisters.

It had taken pain and discipline that had made cheerleading look like a walk in the park. It had taken hours and years that made Possible's sixteen styles of Kung Fu look like a clown falling over herself.

It had made her, _her_, her of the plain, straight, stringy brown hair, of the harsh, unmelodic voice, feel so artful, so classical, so beautiful—

She gritted her teeth hard, daring herself to bite her tongue to have the pain take the thoughts away, to bring back her misery and her anger.

She wound not be weak! She would not be soft. She would be hard and cruel and whatever it took to extract her revenge—

Even if it meant giving up the one thing that truly made her feel special in her own eyes.

* * *

* * *

The plan.

Yes, the plan was going well.

He had people gathering the mechanical components he would need for the actual assembly.

He had already found the proper site for the device.

They had gotten the computer equipment he needed.

The files in them that were vital were intact.

He had computer people pulling the files.

He had translators converting the Russian to English.

He was still searching for the right people for turning the translated files into programs.

He needed a lot of the right people for that.

They all needed to do just a part of the plan.

A small part.

So that no one had any more than a small part.

Only he knew the big part.

So he had to have a lot of people working on a lot of small parts.

He then would put all the small parts together to make the big whole.

Like a puzzle, like a game.

He liked games.

And he would be the ultimate winner.

(giggle)

* * *

* * *

Shego kind of liked the 'being your own boss' kind of thing. She had gotten a taste of it when she had been running the last phase of the Diablo deployment. Now, she actually had a desk and a terminal and an assistant to help her when she needed it.

The assistant wasn't a secretary or anything like that (not that she wouldn't have minded some big hunk of a guy to whom she could maybe job harassed if you know what she meant). He was a freaky computer hacker that was one of Dr. D's researchers. Looking like a cross from one of those photo's she had seen of a unbathed sixties flower child that had maybe stuck his finger in a 440 volt outlet and a mournful reject from Depressed R Us, she often wondered if he just didn't shrivel up and die from his own lethargy.

But ask him to find something on the computer and BANG, in minutes; you had _stacks_ from every single web site on the subject in existence. And there wasn't any place she didn't think that he couldn't hack into given time.

After which he sank right back into his normal state of comatose reality.

But how did any of this help her turn her idea into reality?

She had several irons in the fire. She wanted Little Kimmy to be Gangster Slapped from every direction that she could. Shego knew however, that her biggest job, as in any war, was intelligence gathering, and she had been exclusively working on that for the last several weeks. And finally, with the help of her hacker, along with gossip, intense digging on leads provided by both (the footwork was from hired private detectives paid for by money stashed away by Drakken from Bueno Nacho while it was booming due to the Diablo toys), and quantities of cold hard cash (bribes, payout for gossips and juicy info), the information so gathered was beginning to pay off in ways that even made Shego grin maliciously.

Such a grin was on her face now as she read the latest report. _Absolute gold,_ Shego thought to herself._ Now, I just have to find some unscrupulous scandal rag somewhere to print this as the second punch of the one-two combination of the opening salvo of my campaign against poor angelic sweet little Miss Kimmy and we'll just see what the world's reactions to it will be._

_Let along her parents or of course, her loving, faithful boyfriend._

* * *

A/N Lots of them 

Progress on this work is going to slow down for several reasons. I have been on medical/stress leave since early April (one of the reasons why I started writing was because of the stress) but I will now be going back to work. 10 ½ hour work days (plus the 3 hour round trip commute) will cut down on writing time. The saving grace of this is that I use that commute time to create all my dialogue and plot twists (just don't drive in front of me).

I have been on 'vacation' for the last 3+ weeks (posted Chapter 4 the night before we left and Chapter 5 on the single 'turnaround' night between our two trips) so nothing much has been done recently. Also, things have been so busy that I have not had a chance to read (with a single exception to be noted in a moment) anybody else's work which is in Ron's words "SICK AND WRONG!". If people are reading my stuff, I have to find and make the time to read theirs which will take further time away from writing.

And as we are now going to get into the 'meat' (sorry Rufus, no cheese) of the plot, I want to write the next block of chapters together so that something that I do in say Chp 11 doesn't mean that I have to go back and change something in Chp 7 after I've already posted it (wheels within wheels).

Also, I have a need, (and a 19 year old on my case as well) to crank out some more chapters of my original work (which is what I've been developing and working on since I started writing again two years ago) which some day I might get up the guts to publish somewhere. If anyone would be interested in reading about the M-rated continuing stories about the adventures of a band of immortal Privateers 1200 years in the future as they fight to bring a fractured, divided, corrupt humanity together let me know. It might help me make up my mind.

And now, a comment, hooked into a completely unsolicited but blatant plug (only because what I'm plugging is so good and needs to be seen by everybody). As was noted, I did say that there was one work on the Kim Possible Fan Fiction site that I did read. But this in itself is actually incorrect and I shall explain. But at the same time, I will lodge a firm complaint. And I'm not doing this just for me, but for all the writers who will follow after me in time immemorial.

In the chapter posted above I did a Ron/Kim in a bikini scene. This was very difficult for me because no one, and I mean NO ONE! will ever be able to do true justice to such a scene again because of two men. I speak of course of Captainkodak1 and his partner Richard Sirois and their story— "Kim Possible The Lotus Bloom" and what I am truly talking about cannot be appreciated if you just read the story here at Fan Fiction. To truly appreciate it, you have to go to Captainkodak1's website at deviantART or Richards (which is Lionheartcartoon at deviantART) and partake in the story there. At that time you may actually match The Captains words with Richards artwork to SEE what I am talking about and if you SEE Richards depiction of Kim in a bikini and SEE Ron's reaction to such, you will know, that the words that I have written above, are just a poor shadow of what they have depicted that all of us will be forced to follow in the future.

But seriously, after I posted Chp 5, I spent the entire rest of that evening first going through all the art at Richards deviantART site THEN following the link at the top of his deviantART main screen to his other site at which you could spend as much time as I did just BASKING in all the Kim/Ron/Rufus art. Take the time, it's worth it.

So bare with me. Unless I get run over in the parking lot, I will not leave you hanging forever. I very much appreciate everyone who has done a review so far. At my age and state of mental senility I need all the help I can get.


	7. The Storm Starts

Kim stood tapping her foot. This was not like Wade. She was standing next to the open door leading into the hall at school that led to her locker. It was the Wednesday of the week before school started and she had several things to do including pre-meetings with cheerleaders and committees, and the delivery service with her locker computer was late!

She had spoken to Wade about the computer last Thursday and he had confirmed everything. He had made mention that he was taking his own system in as well and would be down for a couple of days while things were reworked. She hadn't talked to him in all the time since but she would have expected him to call her if there had been a problem. So now she waited. In the hall behind her were two kids from the campus computer class who were waiting patiently to install and wire it for her. They were both on the edge of fidgety and she didn't blame them. She was worse than that.

And Wade would _not_ answer the Kimmunicator!

She could not remember a single instance of where he had failed to answer in any less time than maybe having to struggle out of bed in the middle of the night.

She was beginning to worry if he was all right.

For lack of any better options, she finally shucked out of her backpack and dug deep down into the bottom of it for her cellphone.

_God! I hope the batteries are charged. I haven't had this thing out all summer._

She turned it on, relaxing a little when she saw that it did in fact have a charge and she went to check its directory for Wade's home phone number.

It then beeped, telling her that she had messages.

She frowned. Who would leave a message on her cell that couldn't get her on the Kimmunicator or her home phone? All the messages were sent over the past several days starting Friday and there were all from the same number. She didn't recognize it. But there was voice accompanying them.

"Kim" and she knew the voice immediately, "this is Wade's Mom. I'm afraid there's been a slight problem. Wade's okay but he will be unable to use his computers. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Please call me anytime."

Kim's heart went into her throat and without another thought she hit the return dial.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Load, it's Kim."

"Oh," and the whole tone changed, going sad and apprehensive. "Kim, I'm—I'm so glad you called."

"What's the matter? You don't sound well. What's happened to Wade?"

There was a heavy sigh on the other end. "Nothing really has happened to him dear," but the tone betrayed the words. "However, things are not well in some areas and due to some—problems, I'm not sure how long you will be without Wades services. If you ever get them back at all."

"What?" Kim's voice went up a whole octave. "What happened?"

"Kim dear," and Mrs. Load's voice was very sad, "I'm afraid that Wade got caught with somewhat—dirty—hands."

Kim had an immediate vision of 'The Government' coming to get him due to his searches involving Vaultaslof. "Oh no! Did they take him away?"

"What?" Now Mrs. Load sounded confused. "Who take who away?"

"Did the Government take Wade—"

"Mercy no. That's not what I'm talking about," and Mrs. Load sighed again. "I'd actually find that easier to deal with."

"Then what?" for now Kim was totally confused.

"I," and Mrs. Loads voice was heavy with emotion, "have had an arrangement with the man who works on Wades computers for the last several years. Every time Wade takes them in to be worked on, the man scans them for—inappropriate material."

"Mrs. Load?"

"He's getting to that age Kim," she admitted with great reluctance. "And with his skill, he would be capable of hiding it so that, God knows, I, as his parent, would never be able to find it." Then she paused and sighed again before continuing. "But it was found during the check this last Friday."

"What does Wade say?"

Mrs. Load snorted. "That's the hard part. He's completely denying it. Totally and completely." And then it sounded as if she had to take a hard swallow for she then said, "and I would too. Some of it was quite—disturbing Kim. Nothing I could even imagine my little boy even thinking of being interested in."

There was a moment of silence before Mrs. Load continued. "We've already taken him to a therapist. We're trying to work with him but he continues to completely deny everything. The fact that he's as good as he is, that no one else could get to his system, get past his firewalls and plant anything in there without his knowing it and believe me, under the supervision of his installer, he checked and said, honestly I'm sure, that he could find no evidence of anyone hacking into his system to plant the—material," another sigh. "So that leaves us with no alternative to think than—"

Mrs. Load then told Kim sadly. "It leaves us no choice but to completely deny him access to his computers until he, or the therapist gets through the denial and we can start working through the—disturbing parts of this incident."

There was a long moment of silence. Kim wanted to say something and found she couldn't.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Load said at last, "if this is a hindrance to you Kim. But we must be firm with him."

Kim was crushed on the inside but there was no way— "don't think that for a moment Mrs. Load. I built my sight myself and ran it before Wade came along. You need to be concerned for him first and foremost and my needs should be the _last_ thing involving your family. I perfectly understand and agree with everything you've done and I want to help in any way I can."

She actually heard a smile in Mrs. Load's voice. "Thank you Kim. We knew we could count on you."

"Always," she returned as lightly as she could. But then, she hesitated and just—had to ask. "Can I talk to him?"

"I'm sorry, the therapist recommends that we restrict his contacts until we can break these barriers he's erected down. Telling these falsehoods to others that he trusts just builds them stronger she says and we don't want that to happen."

Kim felt herself sag inward. "I understand," she said quietly.

There was an awkward moment before Mrs. Load said with finality, "Well, thank you for the call. I will keep in touch if there is any thing of important to let you know about. We know you will be thinking about us but please don't call unless it is an emergency. It would be bad if Wade answered the phone."

"Yes ma'am. Take care of him."

"We will try. Take care of yourself, your family and Ronald."

When her cell went dead, it was all Kim could do to stare at it in horror. _Not Wade. No way. No freaking way would he be looking at stuff like that?_

She had told the guys from the computer class please and thank you prior to walking away almost in a daze. _Focus! As much as it bothers you, it's not your issue. It's Wade's and his families. If they need your help they'll ask for it. You've got other things to get a handle on now._

Kim looked up and tried to get the world to stop swirling around her. With forced determination, she started off for the gym. She had a Cheerleaders meeting to attend.

It was soo hard though. What was she, they, her and Ron—Wade had saved their lives so many times. Did this mean an end to the missions?

Movement in front of her snapped her eyes and her mind back to the moment. She was approaching the front of the gym (having no memory of walking there) and she realized that a couple was standing in front of it. It took another moment for Kim's mind to function enough to recognize the couple as Tara and Josh.

It also seemed that she made the mental connection just as that couple saw her. And there was a further disjointment when she realized that Josh and Tara had exchanged hurried, anxious glances at _her_ and that Tara had almost 'pushed' Josh in Kim's direction.

Kim saw her former boyfriend approaching her with a look of complete discomfort and naked apprehension on his face, accompanied by frequent glances back over his shoulder at Tara, who would give him nods and bobs of her head of encouragement but whose own face expressed her nerves in her worried eyes and gently bitten lower lip.

Kim couldn't fathom what was approaching. She and Josh had parted on friendly terms and since he and fellow cheerleader Tara had started steadily dating, Josh and her had been on polite, comfortable ground with no problems or recriminations.

Josh reached her and said with a very unsteady voice, "ah, hi."

"H—hello," was all Kim could reply. She had _never_ known him to be this nervous. That had been one of the things that had always attracted her (verses Ron) was his steadiness.

"Um—," was all he could say prior to looking back again at Tara who gave him a smile and a 'go ahead' gesture, "I need to tell you something," he continued.

That was painfully obvious. But what could be causing him so much distress?

"Okayyyy—?" she asked with an encouraging wave of the hands.

"I—" and he was turning all kinds of red as he started to talk, "There was this guy who stopped me yesterday at the mall. He knew who I was. He showed me some newspaper I.D. from some scandal sheet. He started to ask questions—"

Kim frowned. She had been the subject of scandal sheet gossip before but usually false and spurious stories linking her to some male celebrity. This was the first time any of her friends had ever been approach to her knowledge. And why Josh?

"What kind of questions?" she asked in a low voice.

Josh _almost_ looked down at his feet but somehow found the strength to look her in the eye and say, "did we ever have sex."

Kim didn't know if it was possible to go totally pale and beet red at the same time. She looked at him, she _pleaded_ with him with her eyes and face as she struggled to find her voice and ask the question she didn't want to ask—

"I told him that we never did and left it at that," Josh said shakily as Kim felt herself ready to collapse into a puddle at her own feet. "I knew that," Josh continued, "if I said any more, he would find some way to twist the words around into something else."

Kim brought her hands up to her face and gusted out, "Oh GOD! Thank you!"

"But—" Josh said with a clear note of warning which brought Kim's face up with the horror back onto it—

"He," Josh said gravely, "offered me money, a great deal of money. He said that some scandal rag in Great Britain had already broken a story about you this morning in which some guy claims to have had sex with you, some male cheerleader from another town—" Josh just looked at her for a moment, then added, "they wont get anything from me. Not for any gifts or money. That's a promise."

Kim felt her insides tearing apart at the seams but she nodded to him and forced herself to say, "you rock Josh. I really, really mean that."

Josh gave her what smile he could then nodded with a hard, blown out breath and said, 'good luck," and turned, rapidly walking back to where Tara waited.

Kim stood, her head feeling light, the world a colorless whirling haze. _What am I going to say? The Twins? What are they going to say or think? What am I going to tell my Parents? What am I—oh Ron, what am I going to say to you?_

"What's the problem Possible?"

Kim looked up with a start, jarred by both the sharpness of the voice and the sudden recognition of who it belonged to.

"Bonnie?"

The brunette teen was looking at Kim down her nose with the long familiar contempt. "We are waiting on you to start this little meeting."

"Oh," Kim said meekly, coming up off the lower gym bench. She had been so deep in her own thoughts and worries that she hadn't even heard the other girls come into the gym. "Sorry." Kim tried to smile and failed miserably. Part of it was the torment that she was in right now considering the two very Oh So Drama pieces of news this morning. But she also had to acknowledge that she felt a sudden sharp discomfort considering that this was the first time she had seen her fellow cheerleader and rival since the night of the Prom prior to summer vacation.

Bonnie shot Kim a smoking glance and started over to the group of set-up tables without a further word. Kim followed behind, part of her felt guilty for not checking up of Bonnie's welfare during the summer but the other girl had not made contact easy.

Bonnie had broken off contact with almost all of her former posse after 'the party' and had even quit hanging out in the Middleton Mall. Kim had heard that Bonnie had shifted to MHS (Middleton Hills South) Mall and had started a new posse there but details were lacking. And while they were most definitely had never been friends, they had had—sort of a working relationship in cheerleaders as well as several other committees and clubs and—face it, Kim still felt responsible for what had happened despite what everybody else said and that made her say—"so how was your summer Bonnie?"

"It sucked and lets leave it at that and don't talk to me unless it business!" came back the less than melodic _snap!_

Kim _snapped_ shut her mouth.

The pre-meeting with Ms. Whitler, the new PE coach in charge of the cheerleaders had been underway for sometime. Whitler, a black haired, waspish woman, was kind of a stickler for the rules it seemed and had made the girls sit as she read _all_ of the applicable rules and regs from the various state and national volumes.

Whitler then started to ask for or assign the various support or auxiliary offices or positions. Things went as it normally would until—

"And finally, Team Captain, held last year by Kimberly Possible," Whitler stated glancing up from her notes.

"Ready and willing ma'am" Kim said with more brightness than she was feeling at the moment.

"But I think that should be reconsidered," said another voice.

There was a gasp from the collected girls and Kim felt an instant stab of anger and bitterness. _I should have known._

Whitler looked to Bonnie. "Why do you say that Ms Rockwaller?"

Bonnie's voice was very level and cool. Not a trace of spite or maliciousness was in it. "While Kim has always done a very good job as the Captain, she can not, with all honesty, devote her full attention to it due to her—other activities. And those activities kept us from going to the Nationals last year (_Bonnie you BITCH! Your going to bring THAT up?_) when she wasn't home to take a phone call from the committee."

Whitler's eyebrows went up and she looked at Kim. "Is that true Ms Possible?"

Kim tried to keep from gritting her teeth and—"yes ma'am. My Mother was suppose to take the call for me but she got paged for emergency surgery and my Father—dropped the ball."

Whitler took this in and after a moment nodded and said, "but aren't you, as the Team Captain, the one whose suppose to coordinate such things? Not your parents?"

"Yes Ma'am, I understand, and I've been able to do so all the other times—"

"I see," was all Whitler said. After a moment the adult said, "I don't suppose that you want the job do you Ms Rockwaller?"

"Frankly Ma'am I do."

"BONNIE!"

"Ms Possible please! Control yourself," Whitler admonished.

Kim was pointing at Bonnie with disbelief in her face, "but she had the job. I _gave it_ to her and she _gave it up_ after three weeks."

Whitler's eyebrows went up again as she looked at Bonnie. "Reply?"

Bonnie nodded with firm conviction. "I took over in mid-semester just prior to tests. I admit that it was a mistake and that I was overwhelmed. I also could not deal with the overly complicated system Ms Possible had (_WHAT?)_ for records and for maintaining our routines. Starting out fresh at the beginning of the year, putting my own systems in place, I have no doubt that I can carry through with no problem. In fact, if everyone will remember, I was Captain of the freshman team when Ms Possible first tried out to become a cheerleader so I have plenty of prior experience."

Whitler nodded and looked about her. "Does anyone on the squad object?" There was only silence. Whitler then looked to Kim with a challenge in her eyes. _She wants me to object. She wants me to challenge it._

She even put it into words. "Ms Possible, do you wish to challenge Ms Rockwaller for the Team Captain position?"

Kim kept her silence.

It was with more than a punch drunk feeling that Kim arrived home. _Just what happened today? _she moaned to her inner self. _I really don't have any concept how so many things can go so wrong so close together_.

She walked into her house and straight into—

"D—D—Dad?"

Just inside the front door, looming over her, his face like a carven, angry angel of doom—

"Dad? W—w—what are you doing home?"

And as angry as his face was, it was the _pain_, the _hurt_ in his voice that made her wish that every villain, every machine that had ever tried to kill her had succeeded rather than have this moment occur—

"I got a very—disturbing phone call in my office this morning from a friend of mine in England—"

Kim walked through the darkness, making her way to Ron's house later that night, her whole being past numbness. She couldn't remember anything other than pain and misery after this morning and even those memories, of a bright new day and of hopes for a fun, adventure filled senior year, were fading fast.

Her Dad had grounded her to her room until her Mom had gotten home. Both her parents had then set up a conference call with Dad's friends in England and Kim guessed they had both seen the actual offending article. Options had been discussed, her Dad even calling several lawyer friends of her Mom for their opinions.

Only after that, had they talked to Kim.

She had of course- lied through her teeth.

No, that wasn't true (although it felt that way). She had admitted that she had met and had 'gotten involved' with 'the boy in question' the previous year at Cheer Camp and of course her Dad gone completely over the deep end, making pronouncements that she would never be allowed out of the house or within physical distance of any member of the male sex until she was at least twenty eight. Her Mom finally got her Dad under control and it was at that point that Kim had . . . . . chosen to withhold detailed information . . . . by admitting only to hand holding and 'some chaste kissing'.

As, in the opinion of their English friends and the lawyers they consulted that the particular 'periodical' involved had a more than usual reputation for 'creating or enhancing news for spectacular effect', her Dad was able to convince himself that the 'crude and unbelievable' details were in fact made up sensationalism and that his daughter was only 'guilty of irresponsible behavior only as far as unwarranted physical contact with an un-chaperoned male'.

He was more than tempted to ground her until at least her twenty-fifth birthday but Kim's Mom was able to talk him out of it. He did once again subjected her to a long lecture on the 'evils' of boys and advise her to have no contact what so ever with any of them.

After dark, Kim sat on her bed, for the moment simply unable to deal with everything going on inside of her and after much denial, understanding the reason for at least part of it. She had to face Ron and do it before he found out from someone else.

She came down from her loft, a dozen dreads tying up her insides. She wanted to just sneak out. At this point she knew that she had pushed the envelope enough though so—

"Dad?"

He looked up at her from his drawings and plans on the kitchen table (_which he didn't get done at work today because of me_ she thought) with a tired frown on his face. It made her feel so small and failed when he looked at her like that.

"Can—can I go to Ron's?" she asked in a tiny voice.

He took a long, slow deep breath, his eyes still on her as he considered her request. Then he suddenly looked back to his work and said in a grumbling voice, "Ron I trust, go ahead."

Somehow that revelation from her Dad at this moment was almost to her like a pardon to a condemned man at the gallows. But she refrained from rushing over and hugging him, knowing his moods all too well.

She also refrained, as her thoughts this morning when she awoke had been, to ask her Dad about his inquires into the Security around all the mystery involving Vaultaslof. Considering how he was feeling right now about missions of _any_ kind, that would be so wrong an idea.

So, when she reached Ron's house, she was, a few minutes later, led into his room by Mrs. Stoppable who pushed open the door with a smile. Ron stopped his Zombie Mayhem game and a full grin started to break out until he saw _her _face. "KP," he said with instant concern. "What's wrong?"

He pushed himself fully up on his bed. The massive hole in his thigh had filled in for the most part but walking was still very painful and he tried to do it as little as possible. Besides, anytime he could be waited upon hand and foot was good for Ron Stoppable.

But now, the look on his girlfriends face was almost enough to bring him out of bed, pain and tearing muscles forgotten—

Kim looked terrible, worse than during the roughest moments of their troubles.

With lowered head, she shuffled over while Mrs. Stoppable closed the door behind her, trying to conceal the raised eyebrow for whatever crisis that was about to explode on her son through his unstable girlfriend—

Ron held out his arms to Kim—but she wouldn't come into them. She sat demurely on the end of the bed, refusing to look at him and in a halting and miserable voice, "I want you to hear it from me before you hear it from everybody else and—" and a sob suddenly broke from her which caused his eyes to go as wide as trash can lids "and I want you to know the truth so you can know you can trust me—"

Ron felt his insides tighten from fear of the unknown and his throat tighten from fear for her.

"Okay," he said quietly, "go ahead."

She wished that she _couldn't_ remember this part. Couldn't remember watching Ron's face as it fell, as the hurt and the disbelief came into it.

And he never took his eyes off of her.

And when she was done, she waited for the inevitable question, praying that he wouldn't ask it—

Ron dropped his head and looked away from her. Then in a voice that sounded so tired that it was almost inaudible, "I'm not going to ask you if there's been any one else," he said.

It gripped her as if her heart was being ripped out. That was even worse than his asking the question. "R—Ron," she started.

"Please Kim," he breathed, "I really _don't_ want to know."

She lapsed into silence, her body going limp like a puppet with cut strings, her defeat complete.

After what had to be several minutes of heavy waiting, Ron suddenly drew in and expelled a deep breath. He then looked at her, his face still tired and sad, but his voice firm. "I forgive you."

Kim looked up, startled, shocked, "what?" was all she could say in a whisper.

Ron's face was still—tired. But somehow, in order to try to give her some kind of hope, which at the moment she so desperately needed, he was also able to give her just the barest of an upturned corner of one side of his mouth. "Haven't we discussed your—adventurous personality at enough length? I had no claim on you before the Prom, I even, I won't say assisted, several of your former relationships. I shouldn't have any claim or say in what happened during them."

"But Ron—" she tried to get in.

"Kim," and he closed his eyes as if in such pain that she immediately shut up. "Let's just say that I had my fantasy's about being the first guy to do certain things with you and now several of those have been shattered. Let's let the rest of them be. I know that the rest of them are probably all shattered as well but let me hold on to them anyway."

"Not all of them Ron," she said with force, sudden life and fire coming back into her face and eyes when she realized _he truly is forgiving me!_ And so she repeated it with the same life and fire so there could be no mistake, "not all, and none of the most important fantasy's have been shattered Ron. You can trust me on that."

Ron looked at her, mouth now agape that she would—well, say such a thing but there could be only one answer. "I do trust you KP. I always will." Then a shy smile from him followed by, "and thank you."

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Bonnie was almost busting a gut. Of course everyone in school had at once heard about Little Miss Perfects Great Expose but all Bonnie could do was laugh at it. She knew that there was absolutely no way that the pristine Virgin in White Female Knight Lancelot would _ever_ do anything remotely like what was being suggested.

In the meantime, she wished that she could get a little R&R downtime. The herd of cows that she was calling a posse was taking more time and energy that she had thought possible. Add to the fact that one of the only members in it worth half a damn was starting to become a real pain (and possible a threat to her authority). That wasn't helping.

God she wanted to get stoned out drunk and have some guy just completely do her but she couldn't take a chance on the recovery time considering that she had to ride the herd every single moment of the day it seemed.

Well, at least Little Miss Perfect was getting a fine shot of what it felt like to be the target of hostile, questioning eyes and spiteful malicious whispers.

And that Bonnie was really laughing at it, as maliciously and spitefully as she could.

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"What are we going to do without Wade?"

Both of them were on top of his bed, This time, it was Kim who had her back against the wall, her legs spread wide with Ron's head in her lap. Rufus had appeared from somewhere and had made himself comfortable on Ron's chest. Kim was absently stoking Ron's hair with one hand even as she nervously twisted her own with the other.

"I don't have a clue," Kim said unhappily. "I mean, I can probably pull the missions off of my site, but there's no way I can arrange the transport the way he could and dare we even go on some of them without his sensor and information support?"

"We'd be dead," Ron said with conviction. After a moment, Kim had to nod her agreement.

"I think," she said with great reluctance, "that I'm going to have to take the site down until Wade is back with us." She sighed heavily. "He's too much a part of the team to try anything really major without him."

Ron smiled. "Well, more time to enjoy our status as Seniors."

Kim rolled her eyes. "Pulleessee. I've already got more time than I'm going to be comfortable with if Bonnie actually manages to hold onto Captain."

Anger also flashed in Ron's eyes. "You figure she's been planning this all summer?"

"She had too," was Kim's tart reply. "She was too calm, too cool in front of Whitler. She had to have rehearsed that whole speech. I'm only wondering what else she's got waiting up her tight little tank top."

Ron's whole face flashed. "Knowing Bonnie," he said with that conviction that only Ron was capable of, "it has to be the ultimate in High School Evil."

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Shego considered all of thirty seconds calling on Dr D for a congratulating toast. THAT decision went out before she even reached for the bottle and she didn't even dare to think of the reason for the rejection until she had drank at least half of the contents.

He seemed to be getting weirder by the day and it was getting so that there were times in the morning, when she first woke, when she was having serious thoughts, not just about his sanity, but whither or not it might be effecting this 'plan' of his.

Now she was getting just beyond a little bit jittery.

He was more than definitely not the same Dr D.

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A/N

I just want to let everyone know that I did appreciate the occasional message while I was out of service (this means you Captain!)

I have only been able to start writing again in the last three weeks due to the fact that at the end of June my wife decided to refinance and use the extra money for some major remodeling.

Now since I do a lot of the work myself, almost every weekend since the 4th of July had been taken up by SOMETHING! involving ripping it out, putting it in, pouring concrete (lovely thing to do in August in the western Mohave Desert), shopping for furniture/paint/hardware/lighting etc. As so not to bore you, needless to say, I have either been to busy or too bloody _tired_ to write. In fact, other than the Scottish Highland Games in Fresno California (Central California Games) and Ventura California (Seaside Games) and the Marching Through History Exposition in Chino California in my WW2 persona, every weekend since the July 4th has been work.

So obviously I did not get as much as I wanted to. But I'm happy with what I've done so far and will post it over the next several weeks. Hopefully I will be able to write at the same time and get this story done so I can move on to others.

It's good to be back


	8. Snowballing and picking up speed

_This feels just too weird for words_, Kim thought to herself for about the fiftieth time as the private jet streaked through the night sky. _I took my website down, I posted a big cyber sign that said we were closed due to temporary technical difficulties and _still_ governments, and wealthy and powerful people send private transport to get me. _Some of the requests were so selfish that she had had no trouble telling them to take a hike—_ But many have been legitimate problems that I just couldn't—_

But then she looked around the small empty cabin. _But here I am, all alone, completely by myself. I know it's only been a little over two weeks but I'd hoped to hear something about Wade by now. And Ron, at least he's up and moving on crutches but there's no way he could go on a mission. And he had to take Rufus in for his yearly checkup so I don't even have him as a companion._

She leaned back and closed her eyes. _God! I can't believe the way things have been going. School, what a nightmare! All those glances and whispers. And poor Ron. Thank God for his leg holding him back or I'm sure that he would have been in more than a few fights thinking he had to 'protect my honor' against all the rumors and speculation. To think that I'm going through this when someone whose as blatant about it as Bonnie—_she had to stop herself and sigh—_no, that's wrong. This is just what we've been doing to her all this time isn't it._

_And I've had to watch it,_ she remembered grimly, _when those scandal sheet reporters approached me during the couple of days following the release of that English rag. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and not beat some of them into the ground they were so rude and insulting._

She reached up and pressed her palm to her forehead as these thoughts always make things hurt._ How did that rag find him, find that boy? And I never thought he'd—_and she felt the tear run down her cheek—_it really, really hurt the way he boasted about it. He was so DAMN proud of himself!_

She shook her head trying to banish the train of thought. She opened her eyes again and looked about the empty cabin, one thought overwhelming all else, _Ron, I miss you._

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Ron and his Mom rode together in silence that was not altogether comfortable. All too many of their conversations recently had involved the trials and tribulations of Ron's girlfriend and his Mom had been increasingly vocal about her views regarding same. This was beginning to agitate Ron who was beginning to become just as vocal back to his Mother, something that she was not quite accustomed to experiencing.

So now, as they rode together to pick Rufus up from the Vet, it was accepted that 'silence was golden' for the both of them and both were comfortable with this, as uncomfortable as the silence was—that is.

It was with the same silence that they went into the office together, Mrs. Stoppable holding the door for her son to wobble in on his crutches.

"Yes?" asked the girl behind the counter.

"I'm here to pick up my Mole Rat from his checkup." Ron said with a big smile for the pretty lady as he handed over the pre-made payment check.

"And the pets name?"

"Rufus."

"Just a minute please."

Ron stood and rocked back and forth on his one foot. The Doctors said that he should be able to start walking without the crutches in two to three weeks as the muscle tissue would have regrown enough to handle the work without stressing and tearing. He wished it was a lot sooner (he was worried sick over Kim being gone on a mission by herself) but he had also matured to the point that he knew that he couldn't push his body past a certain point and expect it to perform.

"Ah, Mr. Stoppable—"

Ron looked up surprised as it seemed that half of the Vet staff seemed to come out of the door to the back of the counter, Dr. Hamish himself in the lead. A sudden, unknown—something gripped him.

"What?" he cried. "Where's Rufus?"

Dr. Hamish looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry Mr. Stoppable but, we don't know. We came back after lunch and found his cage open and we haven't been able to find him."

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Kim allowed the rushing air of freefall to chase the sleep from her system. She popped her chute and deftly came in for a landing in her driveway. Scrambling, she gathered up her gear and ran for the side door of the garage, thankful that she had been able to get almost a full nights sleep on the plane. But now she had just enough time to shower and change into school clothes before her Mom would be ready to drive her over to pick up Ron.

The fact that she had been gone from Friday afternoon all the way to Monday morning without any communications with her family or boyfriend bothered her (considering the way things were going) and she was also anxious to find out how everyone was. She certainly hadn't expected the mission to take the entire weekend (and she was soo glad she had broken down and done her math homework on the flight out).

So as she darted into the house, she called, "Mom! I'm home."

Her Mother must have seen her land in the driveway for she was standing in front of the bathroom door with a full change of clothing already in hand but—

The look on her Mother's face—

Kim stopped, a grip of ice taking hold of her heart. "Mom?" was all she could manage to say.

Mrs. Possible took her daughter gently by the arm and ushered her into the bathroom, closing the door behind her, turning the shower on full before any words were even said.

The running shower almost covered Kimberly's crying.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Somehow Kim managed to get through the day. Ron wasn't at school of course and no one was sure when he would be able to do so but Monique and Felix had placed themselves in lockstep with Kim and had figuratively and at times, literally supported her during the day.

And after the final bell, when Kim listlessly started to drag herself towards the Gym and cheerleading practice, and she noted her two shadows behind her—

"You guys don't have to come to this," she said tiredly.

"Girl," Monique said sharply, "are you nuts? This is the absolute one thing we have to be at. The way you look and are acting right now, Bonnie the Bitch will get one look at you, and if you're by yourself, you'll be mystery meat."

Kim was too depressed to argue.

She walked into the locker room, Monique following her even there.

"Mon—"

"Kim," Monique hissed and motioned.

Kim looked over to see Bonnie and several others just in the process of changing. The 'Captain' immediately saw her and called out in a piercing voice, striking a pose of awed surprise, "oh Possible. You're here? Didn't you get my messages?"

Kim stopped, instantly frozen, knowing that tone all too well. "No Bonnie, I was gone all weekend. I didn't get any messages."

Bonnie took on an immediate, overblown; 'horrified' look and 'exclaimed' "Oh MY! I sent them to your web site. Didn't your little geek friend forward them to you?"

"Bonnie!" Kim shot back at her, "my web site is down. It says so right on the FRONT of it!"

"Oh dear," Bonnie again feigned with false passion. "But I heard that you were still doing the occasional 'Saving the World' thing so I thought it was just a mistake. I'm sooooo sorry you didn't get the message."

"What was the MESSAGE!" Kim shouted.

Bonnie now gave Kim her most evil grin. "We decided to have the final squad selections on Saturday. All the First and Second Squad slots have been filled. The only slots that are left are the sick, lame and lazy fill-ins."

"WHAT!" Kim screamed as she felt what little of her world that was left start to slip around her.

"Price of saving the world I guess Possible, so sorry you didn't get the message." Bonnie said with a sickly sweet voice.

Kim couldn't identify all the emotions that swirled around her at that moment. Final Squad selections? They had been discussing that with Ms Whitler during the lunch break on Friday afternoon. No firm time had been set but it was tentatively set for this coming Wednesday. They were going to get back together Friday afternoon for a final decision and—

_Oh my GOD!_ and her eyes zeroed in on Bonnie with a sudden mad-killer look. "The call from the Torper Government came in on my phone just as we walked out of Whitler's office. You _heard_ me take it. You _knew_ that I would have to leave right after school on Friday—"

Bonnie batted her eyes innocently at Kim. "Possible, I have no idea what so ever about what you could be (ahem) possibly talking about."

At that moment Kim actually lost it for all of the second it took for her to take the single step forward and for Monique to grab Kim's arm and hissed into her ear, "don't do it!"

But Kim wanted to. For the first real moment in the entire time of their rivalry, Kim literally wanted to rip Bonnie apart and the fact that she knew that she could do it and that the brunette wouldn't have a chance against her was no barrier at all.

And Bonnie saw it in Kim's eyes—and she knew it and she was _very_ afraid. And even as Monique was pulling back on Kim's arm, Bonnie was stepping back away from Kim's eyes. And as if given matching signals, the two rivals turned away from each other without the other knowing they did, one running in fear, the other running in shame and defeat.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

A few minutes later, Monique was holding on tightly to the sobbing Kim in the comparative privacy of a patch of wood to the rear of the main ball field. Felix stood watch over by the fence, far enough away so that the girls could talk low in private but close enough to lend his strength and support by simply being there.

"What am I going to do Monique," Kim blubbered. "Everything is falling into disaster. My whole life is turning upside down."

"Now that's not true," her friend insisted. "You still have your family, you still have Felix and me, you still have Ron—"

"But what's next?" she wailed. "Wade's gone, Rufus is gone, Ron is devastated, withdrawn and mourning, my Dad hardly talks to me, the twins hardly dare to pick on me their so scared of doing something wrong, all my so called friends here at Middleton with the exception of you two have vanished into the woodwork, AND THINGS KEEP HAPPENING."

"And it cant keep happening," Monique said sharply. "The law of averages just won't accept it! At some point, your luck and fate are going to have to turn back again. And you have to start getting back in control yourself."

"What—" Kim sounded surprised and unsure.

"Your letting Bonnie ride right over you and I don't know why. What's going on there?"

It was a long moment in coming but—"It's Whitler. Mr. Barkin just allowed us cheerleaders to pretty much run ourselves, make our own decisions, fight things out among us. She's—changed things. I just don't feel comfortable—fighting in front of her."

Monique looked at her questioning. "Why is that?"

Kim waved her hands in frustration. "She looks at me like she knows I'm 'special' and that I expected to be treated that way and that she's daring me, challenging me to stand up for myself, or against Bonnie so she can slap me down for it."

Monique snorted. "That's bull girl. You _are_ 'special' and part of what makes you special also makes you the best cheerleader and the best Captain this school has ever had and if Whitler doesn't recognize that—"

Kim dropped her head into her hands. "I just might as well give it up."

"Then your letting Bonnie win!" Monique snapped. "She's getting the revenge that she's obviously been planning all summer. She's taking you down girl!"

"If it was just Bonnie and cheerleading it would be one thing," Kim cried in anguish, the tears running freely from her eyes. "But right now, she and cheerleading are actually the last thing that should be on my mind. Trying to get my Dad's respect back, being with Ron in his hour of need—those are the IMPORTANT things. Not even any of these stupid missions should have any meaning next to those things."

Monique just looked at her for a moment. "You know," she said at last, "if you asked that same question to your Father or Ron, you just might get a different answer."

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

After the sun rose the next morning, he went about his day with a set, hard face. Those whom he had called friends simply saw him and gave him nods of acknowledgement. Those who knew what had happened also gave him halfhearted greetings or simple hands on shoulders or arms, gently squeezed. Kim, Monique, and Felix were with him, shared classes with him, hugged him when his eyes started to mist or his bottom lip trembled (Barkin turning away every time), but otherwise allowed him to suffer in the silence he wanted.

He made it through lunch with no other major encounters which suited him fine. There was only one reason why he was at school today. And as bad as things hurt, as much pain and loss as there was in his center at the moment, when Ron Stoppable had a mission to complete, it got done one way or another.

He knew that Kim hadn't wanted to burden him with any of her troubles at this time and so she had tried to hide it when she had come by to grieve with him the previous night. But he had known something other than their shared loss was dreadfully wrong with her. He had called Felix after Kim had left and demanded the story from his friend. He was glad he had for it gave him something _else_ to focus on. It was actually a godsend to him; helping him fend off, deal with his grief and helplessness.

And look out any one who got in his way.

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Bonnie was having a bitch moment. She was stalking away from the outside corner lunch area table where her posse had been 'quarantined' by all the other cliques (instead of the "Senior Table inside center as should have been her right). She'd just had another battle with a couple of her useless bimbo's and that other bitch, oohhhhhh, she was really becoming trouble.

She tired to blow the steam out of her ears by focusing on something else. She could take the vicious pleasure of knowing that little Miss Perfect wasn't sitting at the Senior Table either. She had no idea who had done the sex-boyfriend thing but it couldn't have happened at a better time. It had cut Possible's social status out from under her like Barkin sending the Prom Queen off to detention for a month.

And despite her 'personnel management' problems, her own plans were going well, some even better than expected while others still had to bare fruit. But she had to be careful. Possible was getting unstable and while Bonnie would love to push her over the edge and maybe have something happen (like get her expelled for fighting) she personally did not want to be the target of that incident.

Bonnie glanced at her watch. She had to get over to the PE office and pull the books for this afternoons practice since Whitler would not be around for this one and the office would be locked up after the Cheer Coach left.

As she headed over, she tried to analyze her feelings toward the Coach who had somehow made things so much easier than Bonnie had expected them to be. Whitler certainly seemed to like putting Possible into her place, but Bonnie just wasn't sure of her motivation and therefore distrusted her (as she did everybody these days). But like so much else, Bonnie wasn't above looking a gift horse in the mouth, especially when it meant less work for her because she was doing way more than she wanted to already.

Bonnie walked up to the PE office door, pushed through and—

Stopped blinking in total surprise—

"Just what do you think your doing?" she snarled, her full range of superiority and anger coming to the fore.

Ron, balancing on one foot with his crutches under his arms, was in front of a desk next to an open filing cabinet. He was going through a three ring binder; _THE CHEERLEADER ROUTINES_ Bonnie noted and seemed to be taking heaps of them out of the binder and when Bonnie realized this—

"What in the _hell_—" as she started to reach out as she suddenly moved toward the table—

And found herself soundly THWACKED to an abrupt halt, looking down with abject shock to see the mystical appearance of the rubber tip end of a crutch suddenly pressing into the hollow of her throat just below her Adams Apple.

"Don't even say it Rockwaller." Her eyes snapped back up. The voice had come from right in front of her but she hadn't even recognized it as his, as the Losers, but it had to have been!

And his face! A look unlike any she had ever seen there. She felt—fear.

"What—" was all she managed to get out.

"Note serious face," the boy who looked like the Loser, sounded like the Loser, but certainly wasn't acting like the Loser said. "Note serious tone, hear serious words. Do I have your attention?"

"Yes," Bonnie squeaked.

The crutch was slowly lowered and Ron went back to going through the binder. He was still pulling out routine and rehearsal sheets. But before she could say another word—

"Since you have been so _kind_" and Ron's voice _grated_ on that word, "to arrange to have the girl who developed and choreographed all these routines, the one who, when she was allowed to act unhindered, led Middleton to victory after victory in every competition the school has entered, to be totally removed from any chance at meaningful participation, its only fair that all her hard work in the development and choreography should go with her as well." He then burned Bonnie with a sudden, hateful stare, "after all, I'm sure that you're developing and choreographing your own routines which are much superior." And with that, he finished, gathered up the papers, and slid them into his backpack.

The sight of this suddenly roused Bonnie and she suddenly lurched forward. "You freaking LOSER! You cant DO that!—EEEAAAKKKKK!" as she abruptly cringed as one of his crutches suddenly turned into a whirling blur of—whatever—just missing her head and she dropped into a frightened, whimpering crouch.

After a moment, when she realized it was quiet, she opened her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath because Ron was right in her face.

"Yeah," Ron said in a cold, dead voice, "I'm a loser. I just lost my best bud and no one can tell me what happened to him. The girl who means more to me than life itself is losing her mind at the moment and there's nothing I can do to help her." He sucked in a shuddering breath as a tear ran down a cheek. "But let me tell you something Rockwaller," he went on, his voice just as cold, just as steady. "As of right now, back off Kim. Back off her completely. Or I swear to you, you'll find out that I really am a loser. And a guy who's a loser, has nothing to lose, if you get my meaning."

With that, Ron stood, shucked on his backpack, and placing his crutches, made his way out of the office, leaving Bonnie in open mouth shock to look toward where he had walked out.

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Shego's grin could have almost split her face. It was amazing how one itsy bitsy little thing could be the seed from which so much could sprout from. And while she admitted that so much of what she was coming across was pure unadulterated BS, works of pure fabrication with nothing to substantiate it, they was all made up for when little gems like this one was found among all the rubble.

She was happily working away at her desk when Drakken suddenly came in. She inwardly cringed. His face was looking very stern these days as if he was constantly at the edge of an impatient burst of anger. Unlike the Drakken of old who would always lament and whine about the littlest thing, she had not heard him say once any comment, not directed in a conversation, about any part of the plan or projects progress or lack of it. She had come to realize that he didn't talk to _anyone_ about _anything_ unless it had something to do with work!

Everything else he was holding in.

Was a bomb slowly building?

"Shego?" and he was all business (which was all he ever was anymore) "I know that this I left this entire project in your hands but I have to admit that this item on your budget you just submitted is curious. Specialist?

"Oh that?" and she laughed in a guarded, off-handed way. One of the few things which _hadn't_ changed about Drakken was how he dealt with Bills and paying them. "Yeah, I needed a real pro to do a couple of things for me."

"What kind of things?"

"Ah," she hesitated knowing that what had been done was something that she had been perfectly capable of doing herself if she had wanted to take the time to do it. But she was really getting into this 'management' thing since there was no opportunity to beat up the Princess at this point and she just hadn't felt like putting herself out.

"Just," (this time her laugh was even more forced and nervous,) a couple of small things while I was gearing up to launch my campaign here."

"Was he successful?"

Shego rocked her head side to side. "Ah, yeah."

Drakken's eyes hardened. "You don't sound too sure of that?"

Shego swallowed against her sudden anxiety. "Oh yeah. Everything went fine. Really. Really fine." She swallowed "Really."

Drakken glanced at the bill. "Why the second task was so much more expensive than the first?"

Shego didn't even want to try to laugh for fear of showing just how uncomfortable she was. "No. It was because, ah, there was simply a higher risk factor. Open business full of employees."

"And this was really necessary?"

She raised helpless hands. "Absolutely. And it had to be done by a top notch pro so there could be no chance of him being detected or caught."

Drakken narrowed his eyes and simply said, "I see." He took a deep breath and then asked, "when is your next strike?"

Shego pointed to her screen. "Finishing touches on it now. It'll hit the stands tonight. Little Miss Kimmy should be tomato paste by tomorrow afternoon if it goes at the same speed as the first one."

Drakken nodded and then again looked at her with that strange, questioning but uncomfortable look that he got sometimes. "I know," he said in that weird quiet voice he always got at the same time, "that I'm leaving this in your hands, but just how did you come across that first bit of information?"

"Oh," Shego laughed with an off wave of her hand. "Teenage jocks, you have to love em. Can't keep their mouths shut about their conquests. We must have had a dozen blogs and chat room hits of guys claiming to have had relations with Little Miss Kimmy. But his was the only one where we could confirm that they were actually at the same place at the same time."

Shego shook her head and grinned evilly. "Knowing Miss Straight and Narrow, she probably didn't do anything more than kiss the guy and everything he's claiming is pure testosterone bull. But it was enough for us to sic the scandal rag goons on him and the rest is wonderful history. According to my snitch in Middleton High—"

"You have a spy in the school?" Drakken asked with actual surprise.

"Have to be able to monitor the situation up front. And it seems that we're getting some unexpected help from the Princesses arch rival who had declared war on her all by herself which certainly helps our cause."

"How so?"

Shego was immediately temped to go back to her old sarcastic nature in explaining things like this to him but stopped herself in time. You just didn't do that with this new Dr. D.

"It gives Kimmy an immediate, known, visible enemy she can concentrate on right there leaving her less likely to think about who, meaning us, is striking at her from the outside. I also think I can incorporate this girl, this Bonnie Rockwaller, in some of my own plans, but I'm still working on that."

Drakken just nodded and started to turn out of her office but she moved to stop him with, "oh Doctor, if I could?"

He looked back to her. "Yes?"

Trying to hide any fear (she _hated_ asking him any questions these days), "I was wondering if, you could maybe, just possibly, give me some kind of any idea of what the project completion date might be so that I can pace things a little better?"

He didn't look at her, he just, after a long moment, curled the corner of his mouth into a little smile and walked out without another word.


	9. Whirlwind on All Fronts

Kim opened her locker, still unused to the amount of room without the computer inside of it. Thoughts of Wade crossed her mind followed by thoughts of Rufus followed of course by Ron. She glanced to her right where he was fiddling at his locker, trying to balance books and crutches.

He was in a better mood than he was yesterday when he had been as grim as death. But at the same time, she was amazed that he had even come back to school so soon. She knew that Rufus meant more to him that she did in some ways and she had no problem with that. She certainly knew that she owed the little guy more than she could ever have repaid and it was only the complete unhinging of so much else of her world that had kept her from finding time to quietly go and cry for him

It was then that a familiar but unwelcome shadow fell over her and the entire wall. She whirled about, her head coming up to—

"Mr. Barkin?"

He had, 'the LOOK' on his face as he first glanced at her, then over at Ron. And the fact that when he spoke, it was in that half whisper of his that meant anger and/or upset did not bode well for the objects of that whisper.

"Alright people, I think we better come along to my office for a little . . . . chat."

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"Ron! You did what?" exclaimed Kim in disbelief and horror. And the fact that Ron was sitting there, under Barkins gaze and for once he didn't look the least bit frightened or upset was even harder for her to believe considering that he was also under the accusing and piercing gazes of Ms Whitler and Bonnie!

"Yeah, I did it. No big," he said casually throwing both hands behind his head and leaning back into his chair with closed eyes, an action that brought Barkin out of his.

"I don't know what you think your doing Stoppable, but stealing cheerleading routines belonging to this school from a locked office where you had no right to be—"

Ron thrust up one hand from behind his head out in a stopping motion, his voice intentionally shrill to override Barkins, "Excusing me Mr. Barkin, not to be rude sir but Point Number One," and he started to display a finger count with that extended hand.

"The routines in question were created in the mind of, put on paper by the hand of, and taught to the cheerleaders of this school by the voice and body motions of Miss Kimberly Anne Possible. No where on any of the documents in my possession does it say that they are copyrighted or the property of Middleton High School."

"Point Number Two," and Ron opened one eye to look directly at Barkin. "The PE office was not locked so I did not enter a locked office. However, I will admit that the filing cabinet was. However, continuing Point Number Two and continuing onto Point Number Three, I have a Key," and he reached down with his other hand, into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys.

"See, see, keys, PE office keys and filing cabinet keys to be exact. Given to me, as I am the Middleton Mad Dogs Mascot and OFFICE BOY, GOFER AND GENERAL SLAVE GRUNT. These keys were given to me for that lofty position by the last administration, that would be _you_ Mr. Barkin, where I was required to do all that usual dirty scud work that no one else wanted to do. An administrative position I might add that to my knowledge, has never been rescinded so I had every right to be in that office."

Barkin sat back down in his chair, his face holding a grim look of acknowledgement and respect for Ron. Kim shot a furtive glance at Whitler and Bonnie, seeing that Bonnie was as red as her own hair, barely controlling a desire to explode, and Whitler—

She was also looking at Ron with respect. A look that greatly surprised Kim.

Barkin looked to Whitler and said, "I'm sorry if I didn't cover this prior to your taking over and I'm especially remiss in the fact that I forgot that there were keys outside of my control."

Whitler waved it off with one hand, her eyes still focused on Ron. He became aware of her look and his eyes went to hers. They locked stares for a moment before she asked, "so Mr. Stoppable, just what do you want in order to return the cheer routines to us?"

"Ms Whitler—" Barkin started.

"Please Mr. Barkin, it's so obvious what Mr. Stoppable wants. He wants Ms Possible returned to her position on the first cheerleading squad."

Kim sucked in a breath and actually _heard_ Bonnie grit her teeth.

Then Whitler cocked her head to the side, challenging Ron with her eyes. "But tell me Mr. Stoppable, would that be fair to whatever girl would have to be bumped from the first squad so that Ms Possible could be placed? What right do you, as a _student_, as a _juvenile_ to dictate to us, who are _staff_, _teachers, _and _adults_ in such a way."

_My God_ thought Kim, _she's slapping him down, as I would imagine she would do to me if I tried to stand up to her._

Ron looked her straight back into her eyes and said, "unfortunately Ma'am, as being new this year, you are unaware of the intense rivalry that has been going on between Ms. Possible and the girl who is your present Team Captain."

And Bonnie literally _hissed_ through her teeth. An action which brought Whitler's eyes to her for the time it took for the brunette to subside.

When Whitler looked back to Ron, she said in a conversational way, "actually I was well informed by several people of that fact when I arrived." A statement that made Ron blink and left both Kim and Bonnie actually slack jawed. Ron however recovered and went on.

"Well, in that case Ma'am, don't you think that there isn't a possibility that there might have been some . . . . unusual scheduling involved when both Ms Possible and Ms Rockwaller are both in you office at noon discussing having the Finals on Wednesday and then Ms Rockwaller is back in your office alone late Friday afternoon urging them be held _that_ following Saturday."

Whitler leaned back in her chair and said simply, "I understand much of this Mr. Stoppable. What I don't understand is why it is _you_ pressing the issue and not Ms. Possible. She is the one who should be protesting—" and at that, Whitler's eyes slewed to Kim and pierced her through. "If she wanted it, she should have been the one to fight for it. As it is right now, as I said, I am reluctant to remove a girl who has already qualified for the slot. The only way I will do that is if Ms Possible and the last girl chosen compete in a requalification match."

And Whitler's eyes darkened further and Kim actually felt her malice when she said, "and even then, I think it would be grossly unfair to the other girl."

Kim couldn't take it! She couldn't take those eyes, couldn't take that tone and she—

"NO!" she cried looking to Ron, "give them back the routines Ron. They're mine to give. You shouldn't have taken them in the first place.

Ron looked at her in horror. "Kim," he cried in disbelief, "do you have any idea who the last girl picked _was_? You're a thousand times better than she is. The team _needs_ you to make the Regionals let alone the Nationals."

"Ron," she shouted at him, oblivious to the others in the room. "I don't care! I—"

"Let it go Stoppable—" cut through Whitler's voice. "She's obviously lost the drive to compete."

And that hit her like a slap with a solid brick of ice.

But she _couldn't challenge Whitler!_

"I—I—"was all she could manage with an opened mouth.

Ron was looking at Whitler and saying, "if you know anything about what you're doing, if you know _anything_ about cheerleading and you want to win, you have to know I'm right."

Bonnie was looking at Ron with a hatred that Kim had never seen before.

Then Whitler held up a hand and said in a voice demanding compliance, "alright, enough."

Instant silence.

Whitler's eyes continued to burn into Kim and now, there were other things there. Things that almost looked like disapproval and disappointment (but Kim couldn't believe that). But her voice was firm and commanding, like a soldier giving orders.

"Here's what I propose. I have to blatantly admit that in the workouts prior to the finals, I was truly impressed with your moves Possible and your loss is a big loss to the squad. As is the routines you created and, as I have since discovered in talking to all the other girls, the morale and motivation you give them. But—" and she raised a single finger, "my decision regarding your replacement of the squad member stands firm. If you wish to have that requalification run at any time, we will do it but until them—" and she let it hang.

Ron looked at Whitler then, finally asking, "so, just what are you talking about?"

Whitler continued to hold Kim with those piecing eyes, making her feel small and insignificant. When Kim was ready to run screaming from the room, Whitler suddenly cut away to look at Ron saying, "I will take her on as a Junior Assistant Coach. She will both teach and practice the routines with the squad. That way the squad gets all the benefit of her time and talent," Whitler then sighed before adding, "she just doesn't get to perform for the public unless someone else on the squad is sick or injured." She then turned her look back and fixed Kim in it, adding with a hard voice, "do you think you can handle _that?"_

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"Ron," Kim in a whispered scream at him with enough force to blow the words in one ear and completely out the other side, "whatever on Earth possessed you to do THAT!"

They were walking (well, Ron was stumbling in his crutches) down the hall on their way back to their lockers from Barkin's office.

"Bonnie's on a campaign to take you down. It was time to launch a counterattack."

"But taking on Whitler—"

"What is the thing with you and her?" Ron's voice was more than a little sharp. "What she's doing is so obvious. All you have to do is—"

A tune erupted from a cargo pocket of Kim's pants. Her face immediately frowned as she reached, "my Mom?" she said in surprise recognizing the ring from her cellphone.

"Kim" came her Mother's voice and it _did not_ sound happy.

"Mom, what's wrong? What's happened now?" Kim asked, her eyes now large and frightened as she looked at Ron.

"Don't say anything," came her Mother's voice. "Don't talk to anyone, don't let anyone talk to you. You and Ron check out of school right now and be waiting at the curb. I'm coming to pick you up."

"NOW! Mom? What's going on?"

There was a long pause before a sigh before, "seems that your Father just got another phone call from England."

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Kim's ears almost couldn't recognize the voice that was coming from down below her loft stairs as belonging to one of her parents.

"Their libel laws are different," her Dad was ranting, "the age of consent for the whole stupid country is sixteen so they don't look on it as a big deal AND their whole view on scandal sheets, what with the 'Royal Family' and all that garbage, is COMPLETELY different. AND, because the 'VIDEO' portion is on the World Wide Web! MY GOD!"

With every single word out of her Fathers mouth, Kim could only cringe harder as she lay on her bed crushing Pandaroo to her chest. She was beyond pain, beyond numb—

And her Father was beyond listening to her.

SHE knew exactly what had happened for she had no trouble recognizing the room in the video. She had been covered in wet grass and mud after the fight with the crown jewels bandit in Moldivita. While a helicopter had been in route to take her back to the capital and her flight back home, the border post commander had offered her the use of the officers barracks to shower.

And someone had videotaped her the whole time through that full-length mirror at the end of the bath.

But that wasn't the kicker. The photo's from the video, carefully 'edited' and tastefully 'doctored' (because she was underage as far as the United States was concerned) had appeared in that same English scandal rag, accompanied by a story that her—shower—occurred AFTER she had 'entertained' several of Moldivita's junior officers.

The failure not to have Wade available had now brought her down. For of course this was not the first time there had been an attempt to do something like this, but Wade always scanned any place that she and Ron were in venerable positions and he would have spotted the false mirror and warned her.

And what was so freaking stupid about it all? When her Dad banished her to her room, Kim had gone to her computer and had downloaded the video. Two things were ssooooo obvious. The angles, cloudiness of the mirror, the dimness of the light and quality of the video was such that you _really couldn't see anything!_ The doctoring on the scandal rag pictures made you think there was more there than there really was.

The second thing was that she was taking a frigging shower! She'd shucked out of her clothes, she'd washed her hair, and she'd scrubbed herself down _hard_ because she had been _dirty_. There was nothing slow, erotic, sensual or _anything_ about it if you just stood back and _looked_ at the stupid thing!

But her Dad, he was beyond being the square, uptight 'rent protecting his 'little girl' and not even her Mom could get him to wind down at this point.

Kim heard the front door bell, after a moment, she could faintly hear her Mom's voice and Ron's.

She shot up off her bed to the edge of her stairs, torn between terror and need. Terror that this incident might well have turned Ron against her as well, need because she _needed_ him in the worst way now that her Dad was so soundly shutting her out.

The she heard her Dad say from the hall, "I'm sorry Ronald. But I think it would be best right now for Kim to cease all contact with boys. Even you."

"NO!" Kim screamed as she bolted down her stairs, flinging herself into the front hallway pleading, "Dad you cant! You just can't!"

Her Dad came around with his fists firmly on his hips saying 'Kimberly Anne, this discussion is not open for review."

Kim was able to take in that Ron was standing in the door, a look of confused horror on his face and her Mom was standing to the side of the door, surprise and, yes horror also on _her_ face and—

"Mom?" Kim cried in desperation, looking to her Mother for help.

Mrs. Possible immediately shook herself out of her shock and was at once across the hall, taking her husband by the arm, "Honey I think we maybe need to talk away from the kids."

But Kim winced because even as her Mom led her Dad away, her Dad for once was actually arguing with her Mom and it was _over her!_

Kim felt herself folding up into a standing statue of abject misery that progressively got tighter and smaller as she heard her parents arguing faintly in the far end of the house.

A thought made her head snap up and she saw Ron standing there, at the threshold, tears silently streaming down his face. His lips trembled and finally, as if taking all his remaining strength, he managed a strangled whisper, "I better just go."

Her eyes went wide and as he started to turn, she had just enough time to say in an emotion-choked voice, "I need you!"

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Kim finally pulled herself up off of the pillow of Ron's shoulder, giving him a weak smile, reaching out to gently touch the damp spot (heck it wasn't damp, it was soaked) on his shirt from her tears. She twisted around to the edge of her bed and reaching for a tissue, she started to blow her nose.

She had no idea what promises, compromises or threats her Mom had to make with her Dad to allow Ron to let them be together let alone getting her Dad to allow Ron unsupervised access to her room but Kim certainly was not going to rock the boat by asking or doing _anything_ that might endanger it. Ron had to be gone by 10:00 and there could be none of the sneaking in after hours through her window (which she had suspected they had long known about) once his leg was completely healed.

Even then, the first couple of moments had been grim—

When Ron finally finished struggling up her stairs, he saw Kim who had preceded him in front of her computer.

"What--?

"Have you seen it!" was the harsh snap of her reply.

He decided not to try to humor her by making some kind of smart remark. "No I haven't."

Kim heaved herself up out of her chair, her body language mirroring that night of their 'big break up' of which he could now recognize as her temper hovering at the edge of its flash point. She strode over to next to her bed, flinging an arm back toward the computer screen with a commanding, "watch it!"

Without a moment's hesitation his reply was, "I don't have to," which caused Kim to spin on him with a suppressed shriek "Watch it!"

Everything Ron saw in her, the anger, the hurt, the feelings of betrayal and abandonment, the anguish, the misery, however much of those boiled through her, he could tell what was clearly her greatest fear was so plain to see—

And he would not allow that to her.

"No! he said firmly, humping over to the other side of her bed where he flopped down with his back against her headboard as he felt her eyes tearing the very skin off his back, knowing the fact that the only reason she wasn't screaming at him was that it would bring her Father running and that would be the end of it all.

"You—you don't," Kim literally could not talk through her choked rage/misery.

At that point, Ron Stoppable fixed Kim Possible with the hardest stare he could manage and snapped back at her, "I don't have to see it because I don't care what it shows or doesn't show. We went through this before and your anger alone tells me that nothing happened and the fact that I TRUST YOU!" and he threw his crutches to the floor for emphasis, "should mean something. So trust ME damnit! and believe without a long winded explanation or confession that I believe and that THAT should be enough for the both of us!"

And all of Kim's anger had dissolved instantly, leaving only a hard-sobbing teenaged redhead, who, with fierce gratitude and heartfelt shame that she had ever harbored such thoughts, came awkwardly across the side of her bed to bury her face into her boyfriends shoulder, allowing his arms to surround and comfort her as all those emotions he had seen in her, came pouring out as her tears.

Now, still blotting at those tears, she was beyond being grateful for him. She knew that right now, her very sanity rested in Ron's rather scruffy hands.

And after tonight, she would never doubt that again.

"What's going on KP," came Ron's tired voice from behind her. "Is this just the worst string of bad luck we've ever had or what?"

Kim just had to shrug. "Monique said the same thing. And she said it had to end some time but it sure doesn't seem to be doing it.

"If only Wade," Ron sighed. "You haven't heard anything?"

Kim shook her head. "No, and I'm respecting his Mom's request not to call unless its an emergency."

"I'd call a naked video of you on the internet an emergency. He could pull it down, blank it or do something with it real quick."

She smiled grimly. "Considering what he's in trouble for, I'm sure a naked video of me is the last thing his parents want him working on. Not that you can really see anything of course." She threw the tissue into her trash. "That's what tweaks me about this whole thing. There's really nothing there to see. It gets all blown out of proportion."

"Price of saving the world I guess."

Kim shot Ron an angry look. "You take your life in your hands with that line. It seems to be Bonnie's favorite dig these days."

"But you need me so I'm safe."

"I could also use a punching bag to take all my anger and frustration out on so don't push your luck."

Ron dropped his head. "Yeah, I know the feeling believe me."

Kim felt an immediate wave of shame wash through her and—

"Oh Ron," as she slid back up to him, wrapping her arms around him, "I'm—I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be letting my problems burden you right now. Not when you're having to deal with—"

Then Ron reached over and gently but firmly pushed her face into his chest with a quiet for forceful 'shusshhhh'. Only when she relaxed and stopped resisting against it did he lighten his grip and say, "don't think that your problems aren't my problems and that I don't know that you haven't been grieving for Rufus just as much as I have. But helping you right now is helping me by giving me something else to focus on. And what better a thing to focus on than helping the girl I love get through her own hard times. Rufus, wherever he is, would understand and want it that way."

Kim felt herself choke up again. "Oh Ron, I l—" and again her head bobbed forward as she tried, _strained_ to get the word out—

And she could finally only give a sob and beat on his thigh in frustration. "Damnit! Why can't I say it! Why can't I say that stupid freaking word to you when everything inside me just want to scream it to the entire world!"

Ron himself was trying not to scream, as her thumping fist wasn't to far from the still sore wound. He finally managed to grab and stop her hand and then reply in an only slightly agony-choked voice, "well, you said you needed time—"

Her head came away from his chest so that her tear-filled eyes could bore into his. "We've been together over four months. I think we're both pretty serious about spending the rest of our lives together. Doesn't it bother you that I can't say those words to you?"

He hesitated and she saw it. She fixed him with her eyes and demanded, "tell me honestly, does it bother you?"

He looked upset and uncomfortable but he nodded slightly, "sometimes. I mean, I know you love me, you show it in every way you possibly can and you write it and text it and all but—," and his voice trailed off.

"It would be nice to hear it," Kim finished for him. Ron just kind of shrugged.

Kim lay her head back down on his chest closing her eyes, squeezing him as tightly as she could. "One of these days, I promise you, I'll figure this stupid thing out and then you wont be able to shut me up about it."

Ron kissed the top of her head. "I wouldn't think of it."

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Shego was lounging in a robe in her quarters reading the various scandal sheets with a lopsided grin on her face. It amazed her how so much garbage could be generated out of one little—

There was a knock at her door. She frowned at it. Who could possibly—?

As she was totally unprepared, she could not hide the surprise on her face when she flung her door open "What do you—OH MY! Hello Doctor, this is . . . . ha . unexpected."

For there stood Dr Drakken in that forward bending, almost hunchbacked, form that he was taking on. His eyes were heavily lidded and nervously glancing around. There was something else there, something new and not right, but Shego couldn't put her finger on it.

"Good evening Shego, might I have a few words with you?"

And with a broad (and obviously phony) smile on her face, Shego rapidly backpedaled into her Great room with "Ha ha, of course Doctor. Come right in."

He stalked past her, his head rotating like a top as he tried to spy into all the corners. "I take it that we are alone?"

Shego swallowed heavily, instantly grateful that D had not done this last weekend.

"Yes Doctor, we are."

"Then close the door and have a seat. These are your rooms after all."

Not liking any one bit the idea of being closed alone in the same room as this Drakken, Shego was tempted to ask him to leave and come back—

But he did have a computer analyst who screwed up a program line verification run fed to the sharks recently.

With a silent plea, she pushed the door closed behind her and crossed to the wingchair (which would offer the quickest exit if she had to do any kind of moves).

Shego sat and kept her eyes lowered as Drakken paced in front of her for several minutes.

Then with a suddenness that startled her, he plopped down onto his butt facing in her direction but with his head and eyes in his lap and—and she thought she heard him—maybe mutter something?

"Doctor?" she looked over at him with more than a little alarm.

Drakken muttered something again and his look, it reminded her of the hang-dog-little-boy-being-punished looks that the Wego's always got when they _were_ being punished for some particularly heinous misdeed.

And again he muttered.

"I can't hear you," Shego prodded gently.

"I don't understand!"

She blinked in broadsided surprise. That also sounded just like some petulant child. And the more she looked at the Doctor—

His entire personality had just changed.

This was more than bizarre.

But as Drakken had often acted like a spoiled child, it was something that she could deal with—

And that made her feel a WHOLE lot better.

"What is it that you don't understand?" Shego probed hoping fervently that it wasn't going to be a game of two thousand questions like it had been sometimes with the old Drakken.

And like a misbehaving child who has been at last given the chance to say his side (complete with the accompanying rocking back and forth), Drakken whined, "I know that I asked you to do bad things to Kim Possible and I really don't mind you doing bad things to Kim Possible but I don't know why the bad things you have to do to Kim Possible have to have anything to do with—" and he just cut off, flushing a deep crimson.

_He's embarrassed!_ Shego realized. _What in the world have I been doing to the Princess that would embarrass him?_

But she looked harder at the fidgeting figure. _But this isn't _him _is it. I wonder—_

And Shego's eyes got very big around as the realization hit her—

And almost immediately those same eyes narrowed into a calculating look.

She waited until Drakken looked up at her before saying anything.

"It upsets you that I'm doing something to Possible involving . . . . what?"

Drakken flushed again and looked back down into his lap. "I'm not suppose to use those kinds of words."

Holding her breath, Shego asked softly, "is there someone in there who _can_ use those kinds of words?"

After a long moment, the figure gave a jerky nod of its head.

"Can I talk to that person then?"

"Yes," came the reluctant reply. "But you have to say the words."

That clamped Shego's lips tight. Keywords! Triggers! She didn't have a clue what they could be.

"I'm sorry but I don't know any of those words," she said carefully, afraid of breaking the mood. But at the same time, she couldn't just give up. "So," she ventured, "if you want me to answer your questions, you'll have to let me speak to someone who can talk to me in a way where we can speak freely."

"Okay," the Drakken-child said tiredly. "I'll get someone." And he seemed to curl up into himself.

Shego waited, only taking half breaths, shifting herself to move just in case what 'came out' was not nice.

And she waited.

By the shrunken figures tremors and jerks, she guessed that some kind of internal struggle was going on.

The figure of Drakken then abruptly started to climb back to his feet and Shego tensed her entire combat trained being as it came to face her fully—

Giving her the second soul shocking surprise of the night.

It was . . . . DRAKKEN!

He was looking around with that old arch eye-browed contempt look that he used whenever he had no clue whatsoever as what was going on and was trying so very hard not to show it.

"Doctor?" she barely breathed.

He looked to her, that old familiar clueless pose—

"Ah, Shego," and it was _his_ voice again. "I have no idea as to why I am in your room other than the fact that I have some questions to ask and" and he gave Shego a very worried look, "I have absolutely no idea how I got here."

She came up out of her chair and said in a hushed tone, "do you remember anything?"

Drakken's blue skin actually turned gray and a hand came up to hold his head as if in pain.

"Something tells me that I don't want to know," he said in a tone with that old whine in it.

Shego just nodded. She knew too little to try and push things now.

"What were your questions Doctor?"

Drakken seemed to shake himself free as if being released of the task he had been 'brought back' for. Taking one of his superior stances, he said, "now I know that you were put totally in charge of removing Kim Possible from being any threat to my plans. And while I believe I understood the first incident as a shock factor and undermining her image as a non-evil person, I fail to understand why you continue in this same vein with your next moves."

Shego believed that she understood him but she wanted to make sure. She also wanted to test his resolve, as this subject would be 'uncomfortable' to him even in the old days.

"What you want to know is why am I using these _sex scandals_ against her repeatedly when there are other ways to attack her as well.

As she had hoped, Drakken had physically cringed at the word 'sex' especially considering her heavy verbal emphasis on the phrase. In fact he might have slightly blushed again.

"Ah," and he nervously patted his hands together in front of him

_Don't push it girl,_ she said reigning in an old desire to tease him unmercifully about it. _It might be giggles for you now but your libel to pay when the dominant personality reasserts itself._

"Well Doctor, there's several reasons. The first being that your right and that this kind of an attack is a direct assault on her 'shining example'. But there's more to it than that."

"Such as," Drakken asked slowly.

Shego carefully settled herself back into her chair giving herself a moment to organize her thoughts. She had to do this carefully.

"I," she said with a certain amount of relish, "have set out not only to remove the Princess from being a danger to your plans, but to see if I can completely destroy her without any physical contact on my part."

"And how do you accomplish that?"

Shego grinned evilly. "To destroy a person, totally, you first have to remove them, totally, from everything normal and regular in their lives and then, totally, cut them completely from any and all support network they have prior to, totally, imploding on themselves."

Drakken's eyebrow was about to go through the roof. "Totally?"

Her grin was still there. "Totally."

Drakken looked at her, "Seriously?"

Shego gave him a sudden nasty look saying, "oh no, lets not go _there!_"

Drakken looked befuddled for a moment then shook it off. "So this is all part of a plan?"

Shego held up her hands in example. "Think of the Princess as a chair with four legs. The legs are her 'wonderful life', her parents and family, her 'close-in 'tight' friends and finally, the loving buffoon of a boyfriend."

It took Drakken a moment to make this mental image but he finally nodded.

"The first sex scandal with some wayward jock in a field at cheer camp, as I told you before, for all I believe all she did was kiss the guy. But it blew the doors off of her little good girl image. But that damage was done and the intended target, her 'wonderful life', took the hit I intended."

"Now," and she leaned back slightly as she warmed to her topic. "As far as the public at large and the denizens of Middleton High School are concerned, now that little Miss Kimmy is a 'soiled dove', another sex scandal is no big thing. In fact," and she chuckled another evil chuckle, "those who have taken the time to actually _look_ and _examine_ the video will quickly get the feeling that its all so much bull. But _they are not the target_."

Drakken blinked, clearly perplexed. "Then who?"

Shego actually laughed. "With all the whining and moaning over the years I've gotten a pretty good idea how much you dislike Doctor James Timothy Possible." She paused as she saw Drakken react to this. Then she went on, "as well as all the research we've done on Kimmy or her family from one of your schemes to another. Using all that info along with more gleaned from my hacker, after consultation with several family practice shrinks," and again Shego paused, this time to see if there was a reaction to the word 'shrink'. Drakken paled gray again and looked ill so she hurried on, "I found that the male Dr Possible is the worse case scenario for his daughter in a situation like this."

She grinned to herself as she saw the gears grind in Drakken's head, jamming completely after only a moment. "How so," he was forced to ask.

"Despite his age he still a starry eyed little boy playing with rockets with the stars in his eyes."

When she didn't continue, Drakken made a gesture to keep her going. She knew she was playing a dangerous game here, but she needed something to figure out just how far his condition would allow her to manipulate him (for now she knew that _that_ was the answer).

"I think the expression is "lost in the sixties' or something like that. As a Father, Mr. Possible is only missing the cardigan sweater and pipe from a 60's dad when it comes to HIS little girl."

A light began to dawn behind Drakken's eyes. "So the second . . . . . incident is strictly for his benefit?"

The evil grin comes back. "It's overloading every single Daddy Dearest cell in his body closing him off from the true logic and nature that he _has to know_ is the truth. It's making Daddy Possible a tyrannical lunatic when it comes to his daughter, incapable of rational thought or of sitting down and calmly discussing the issues involved which, looking at their family dynamic, effectively isolates Mrs. Possible as well because the whole house is basically in mental lock down and is not an escape or haven for the Princess quadrupling the whole snowballing effort in the process."

Drakken considered this for sometime then nodded. "And you plan other things like this? And against the other . . . two legs as well."

Shego nodded. "As the opportunities arise. My hacker is basically combing the Internet, all the web sites, the forums, the chat rooms, the blogs, all of it, looking for anything against any of them that we can use. If we can find something innocuous that we can twist to our ends, that will work as well."

Drakken nodded and asked, "and if you cant find anything useful, what then?"

Shego laughed again. "There are other things in the fire. As I said, we have to destroy the whole network first in order to destroy her and that means all of them will be dealt with eventually. Example, I have a long term plot working against Kimmies little Club Banana clothes-horse friend that should come to the light of the proper authorities in the next month, much to the poor girls dismay I'm sure and as far as the buffoon—" and she just left that hanging with a laugh, "If what I hear is correct, he just may be taken care of for us by another source."

Drakken stood for the longest time considering this before saying, "well, as uncomfortable as I am with the nature of some of your work, as long as it gets the job done—"

And before she had a chance to censor the thought—"and being that you're in such a good mood right now, could you maybe give _me_ some details about your plan that will maybe help me along?"

And Shego almost climbed right back over the back of her chair as Drakken, looking so-help-her-God like some kind of CGI effect from a horror movie, disappeared, and the man standing before her slowly shuddered, shrunk, bent and wizened back into the 'Master of the Plan' that she had known for the last several months.

Feeling like she was staring her own death right in the face, she held her breath and willed her heart to continue beating.

When those heavily lidded eyes came back up to focus on her, all the Doctor said was, "ask me that again and it will be your last question of me."

With that he turned and walked out.

And she sat in the chair, her robe soaked in fear and sweat, fighting back nausea but with one primary thought in her mind—

_I've got to get his records from that loony bin and find out just what in the hell they were doing with and too him. Especially the key word triggers. If I had those—_

And she gave an angry glare at the now closed door to her rooms.

_If I had those, maybe I would be running this show._

And so she resolved to get them—

Or else—

And she took a heavy swallow at the thought, she would have to seriously consider wither or not she might just have to take the good Doctor _out!_

For _her own_ safety of course.

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More days, more fights, and arguments

Her Mother:

Her Sisters:

Her Stupid Counselors:

The fucked up members of her rancid piss poor posse

Bonnie didn't know what to do. It was becoming harder recently to keep focused, to keep herself straight and squared away and headed in the direction she thought she should be in. Right now, she should have been feeling in control, satisfied that so many of the plans she had against Little Miss Perfect were going so well.

But the fact was that she did not feel that way at all.

She felt . . . lost and frightened.

She remembered the days before the Junior Prom when she had—well, she couldn't call them friends, but they hung out with her, they were members of 'her' posse and they talked and bitched and put down others while making themselves Queens of both Middleton High School and Mall.

And she had been the Queen Bee (wasn't that the reason why those stupid robots had kidnapped her), and less fortunate girls competed to get into her posse because it was _the one_ to be in.

At the same time, she could have just about any boy she wanted if she tried hard enough. Of course she only bothered with the ones who mattered to the Food Chain.

The Food Chain. She had spent the last three years at the top of it, always wearing the latest outfits (remembering happily putting Little Miss Perfect down while wearing a copy of her own "Mission Clothes" during that fashion fad), always going to the best parties in the best boys cars with the best girls from her posse gathered around her showing the world (and every other kid in Middleton) who was at the top of the Food Chain.

Now she wasn't even _on_ the chain let alone near the top. She was having to ride hard on a posse that she had created through threats, intimidation, and blackmail. She was the Captain of the Cheerleading Squad but was obviously held in contempt and scorn by almost all of its members. She was shunned and banished to outside tables during lunch at school. Her house had been vandalized and tepeed several times and the tires on her Mom's van slashed.

It was a help that whatever it was that was gong on with all the scandal rag publicity with Little Miss Perfect had caused the rest of the school to hold Possible at arms length as well but with dips like Barkin and Whitler still pulling for her—

This was why she felt lost. She was also tired. She had been living with the anger and the hate for so long that it had become a wearisome burden. One that was giving her sleepless nights and periods of black depression where all she wanted to do was find a gun and blow her brains out.

There had been some days when buoyed by her successes, like her unexpected triumph over Possible with the Squad Finals, that she felt that she had almost obtained her goal and could soon relax a little, loosen the hate and anger binding her mind and chest and stop having to work so frigging hard knowing that her other plans and schemes, the minor ones being run by the members of her posse, would continue to torment Possible significantly for the remainder of the Fall Semester at least.

But then there would be something like the crap with Stoppable and Whitler that would ignite the hate white hot all over again and she would crave for something, anything to slam, to hurt her enemies as bad as she perceived her own pain to be.

And now a new element had been introduced into the mix, one she certainly hadn't expected.

Fear.

The look in Possible's eyes inside of the locker room when Bonnie had realized that she had pushed her over the line and that Possible had actually lost it almost caused her to pee her pants. In that moment she was dead rock sure that Possible had every intention to HURT her and Bonnie was well aware that Possible could tear her apart without even razing a sweat.

Yeah, she had tried to blow it off afterwards, even to herself. Possible was too much a righteous stuck up do-gooder to let herself go and do something like attack her. Bonnie had kept repeating that to herself until she believed it.

Then she had encountered Stoppable in the PE office.

Yeah, she called Stoppable a loser because everyone looked at him that way and he for the most part, acted that way. But she also had to admit that there had been times, like when he had been dealing with that weird fish guy at that strange camp when he had had his head on right.

But the main reason why she didn't like him was he was always been tight with Possible and what Possible saw in him Bonnie would never understand.

But in that PE office, Bonnie saw something in him that she hoped she never saw again. Hard edged steel. Directed straight at her, threatening to run her straight through.

Now she would have been tempted to laugh in his face (except she had been too frightened at the time to even think it) until he did that. . . . whatever it was with his crutch that sent it spinning like a rotor blade in his hand.

And the way he had threatened her? He actually sounded like he meant it.

He had to be crazy!

All those stupid missions against those whackos must have driven him nuts!

And if he was nuts, could it be that Possible just might be as well? That she just might go over the deep end if Bonnie continued to push too hard.

The more she thought about it, the more upset she got. She'd come too far; she had all those plans going. Could one of them push Possible or Stoppable over the edge? She wasn't sure what to do.

And there was no one to talk to. No one on her side. Certainly no one who would back her up or help her in a fight.

She needed some back-up, some muscle to stave off any threats against her. But where could she get something like that? Brick and the Football players just ignored her. She supposed that if she offered them regular use of her. . . services that she could get theirs. But she really didn't think she could trust them to try and take on Possible if she came after her. And try as she might, she couldn't come up with any other ideas.

Finally, in desperation, she was forced to talk someone she really didn't want to talk too—

Carla Ethome had transferred in from the East Coast the middle of last year. She had immediately become a 'fringe' hanger on her old posse. Wild things had been rumored about her and at times, she had produced some really wild stuff. Her Father had some kind of shady business dealings. So, when Bonnie was forced to form a new posse, Carla had been one of the two carryovers.

But, Carla had been with more and more frequency a real pain in the butt and had actually challenged Bonnie more than once as if trying to take control of the posse but backing down before things came to an head (but with the edge getting closer each time). But she had a quick, evil mind and had suggested several of the more subtle but nasty things that were happening to Possible.

And out of fear and desperation, shutting her mind to a whole host of grim thoughts and speculations, Bonnie agreed to Carla's suggestion.

So, it was during the next lunch break that Bonnie and Carla, instead of eating, were walking through the student parking lot toward the far back corner. There, hidden behind a wall of Junipers was a group of girls standing.

Their dress, grooming, and accessories were right at the borderline of what Barkin would tolerate. They were smoking and drinking out of metal flasks. And as Bonnie and Carla came into view, they locked onto them with hard piercing stares. These girls were part of the hardest of the kids bussed in from outside of Middleton.

"Well, if it aint the fallen queen of the prom," one of them called.

"Fallen so far that you've decided to join the slummers alkie?"

"Yeah, give her a flask, she could probably drain it in one swallow."

Bonnie's insides were wound up tighter than a drum, her mouth was as dry as cotton and she was trying to keep her hands from shaking. This was beyond anything she ever thought she would be doing.

"What cha want queenie?" the tallest one said. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want something."

Trying to look like she was _not_ licking her dry lips, Bonnie replied, struggling to keep her voice strong and confident, "I'm looking to contract some of your boyfriends as occasional muscle for me."

"Oh really?" the tall one said with obvious surprise and amusement. "Got more guys girlfriends pissed off at ya huh? And how would you pay for our guy's time. And don't bother saying with your skinny ass because then girl, we'd have to kick it."

Bonnie swallowed against the threat, as that had been her initial hope. Now she would have to go all the way with Carla's suggestion. She waved her hand to indicate the other black haired girl next to her and said, "you know who this is?"

The gang girls looked to Carla and finally one said, "seems I heard that her old man is into some shit."

"And my Daddy," Carla suddenly spoke up with an evil smirk, "can cut your boys and brothers into some of that. He's been looking for some guys to do some new work for him."

The girls looks were heavy with suspicion and the tall one said, "how do we know this is legit? We know that you're a bitch and all but this seems a bit much even for you."

Bonnie tried to put a cold look on her face. "I've been physically threatened. I need to push back. And I want to do it hard so that everyone gets the message."

A certain amount of the suspicion went away at this but the tall girl asked, "who do you want pushed?"

Bonnie actually hesitated as her tongue cleaved to the top of her mouth. It wasn't until she felt Carla's gaze swivel to her that she forced herself to say, "Ron Stoppable."


	10. Struggling Against the Tide

Life has to go on—but that didn't mean it has to be nice.

Kim's face was trying to stay calm as she followed the Coach of the Middleton Swim team into the office. She had just been going into the locker room when the Coach had intercepted her, asking to see her in the Phys Ed offices before she changed.

The Coach kind of haphazardly waved her toward the seat in front of the desk. The Coach then sat on the front side of the desk, looking very uncomfortable and _very_ unhappy.

"What is it you wanted to see me about?" Kim asked fearing the worst (with good reason all things considered).

This made the Coach look even more uncomfortable.

Kim took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Go ahead," she prodded.

"There," the Coach said with obvious reluctance, "have been some—requests made regarding your place on the team—"

Kim's eyes got very big. "What kind of requests?" she asked in a voice that was almost a dreadful whimper.

"That," the Coach continued, not able to look Kim in the face now, "due to certain well publicized scandalous accusations, that you may not be . . . . . a proper . . . representative of the team and the school."

"WHAT?" Kim rocketed to her feet, not understanding, _not believing_, what she had just heard.

The Coach was now looking at her, pain, anger and pity visible in both eyes and face, hands up as if the adult was worried about a physical attack from the teen. "I know, I know! How many times have you saved the world let alone hundreds if not thousands of lives? Up to now you've been our biggest draw and hero even though you yourself have never flaunted, flashed or made yourself to by anything other than a normal girl. But now—"

"Who complained?" Kim demanded as hurt, anger, grief, and a million other emotions flashed through her eyes.

"You know I can't tell you," was the sad reply, belied by the look in the eyes that wished that the truthcould be said. "I can tell you that the final decision came from the Joint Sports Committee headed by Mr. Goody. If your to appeal, its to them you have to go."

Tears were streaming down Kim's face but she didn't say another word as she turned, stoop shouldered with lowered head, to walk from the office.

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Another week—another disaster.

Kim went into the Administrative office, doing her best as she did every day now to keep a cheery look on her face.

"Hi Kim," said the girl behind the counter, a fellow student from one of her classes last year. The girl gave her a warm but guarded smile. Like the vast majority of the students at Middleton, she were more than willing to give Kim the benefit of the doubt as far as the scandal sheet accusations. But many of students were having trouble with the rumors and charges being spread around by persons unknown (write in Bonnie and her posse). So most of them were keeping their distance and their mouths shut despite whatever it was that they truly felt.

"Hi Leann," Kim answered. "I'm here to check on my permit for the park clean up project?"

With a nod, the girl turned and searched a file cabinet. When she found what she was looking for, she froze for a second.

Kim saw it, saw the moment and the hesitation, and felt her insides tighten.

Leann's face was tight with pain and sympathy as she turned back and handed the form to Kim. "Sorry" was all she could say.

Stamped in big red letters on the top of the permit was 'DECLINED'.

A note attached, signed by a Mrs. Goody, the Chair of the Committee stated that as Kim had done the project for the last two years, it was time that it someone else be allowed to do it.

"What," Kim said in a whispered scream under her breath. "No one else wanted to do it until I did! No one else WANTS to do it!"

Kim threw her hands down, her body upright and stared into nothing as another wall in her life came crashing down.

"This can't be happening" was all she could whisper to no on in particular.

She couldn't even cry.

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Later that week

"Don't scream at me Possible!"

Kim clamped both her mouth and her eyes shut tight and considered what method with which she could rend Rachel Mayhew limb from limb.

"I am _not_ screaming at you," Kim grated tightly, as she felt the eyes of the other six girls on the dance committee stare at the two verbal combatants with various degrees of disgust, anger, fear, annoyance and amusement. "I am just trying to get you to tell me why you have to disagree with everything at the last moment when we're right before a deadline?"

"Because," the frizzy haired pimpled sophomore snipped, "once again, _we_ didn't make the decision on either the mood lighting or the wording of the ad posters. _You_ just up and did it on your own. Like you were _Queen _or something!"

"The Stage Crew," Kim repeated again _trying her very best to sound calm and reasonable_, "needed a decision yesterday so they could make sure they had the proper light filters and Josh Mankey came to me on his own to ask about the posters which he has always done and which no one has ever questioned before."

Rachael gave Kim an extra nasty look and laid on with an equally sly voice, "doing things with the ex-boyfriend as well as the new one. We hear from the scandal rags that you like multiples."

Kim erupted out of her chair with her right fist clenched, naked fury on her face.

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The three friends met up near the flagpole in front of Middleton High. All their faces were drawn, their eyes pained and worried. As one, they turned and started down the sidewalk towards home.

Monique walked next to Felix, her hand crushing the one that wasn't on the control for his chair. Her face was torn between rage and tears with the battle far from undecided. Felix's own eyes were straight ahead, but his look was dark without a sign of his usual smile or unquenchable spirit.

Ron walked with head bowed next to Felix on the side opposite Monique. He had just recently graduated to the use of a cane so that other than a noticeable limp, he was able to move and navigate with almost his normal speed and lack of control. But at the moment, this achievement was forgotten in the blackness of the moment.

After almost a block, Ron had to break the silence with a hushed, "I can't believe it, Kim suspended for attacking Rachel Mayhew."

Felix snorted. "Barkin had no choice. The rules required it even though he and everyone else knows that there was more than enough provocation. At least he went real easy on her. Just one day and no other marks against her. Also no detention and no suspension of any of her other privileges."

Ron snorted at that last statement. "What 'other' privileges?" He shot an angry glance back toward the school. "Everything and I mean everything else has already been taken away from her."

Monique looked over. "She's still going to the Cheer Camp before the State Finals isn't she? That's only in a week or two away isn't it?"

Ron snorted even louder. "She hasn't even told her 'rents about it. She figures her Dad is just going to say a loud, resounding 'NO' to her."

Monique's eyes grew wide as she turned to bore her look in on the limping youth. "But your going aren't you Ron? That would make a difference wouldn't it? I mean, you could argue that the one before the Regionals last year, where the thing with the ah—jock happened, you weren't there and maybe it wouldn't of happened it you had been."

Ron shook his head sadly. "I couldn't go last year because I was on infinity detention after that little incident involving the Freshman Art room, that pallet of mystery meat on it's way to the cafeteria, the Bookmobile, that electric skateboard and Rufus." After the mention of his lost friend, they were all silent for a minute. Then Ron went on. "I don't know if I'm going this year because of this bum leg. I mean," and he waved his entire upper body around in a helpless flail, "there's no sense of me going if I can't Mad Dog and since I've been relieved of all my Gopher positions, there's no other reason to be there."

Monique stopped dead. "RON!" she shot at him; horror, accusations, dreadful portents and everything else she could manage to shove into her tone and look to try and make her point as hard a possible. "She _has_ to go. It's all she has left! And if you have to go to make sure she does—" and she left it hanging as that was the greatest threat she could utter.

Ron continued walking up several steps up before she stopped. Then it took a moment before her turned to them with a sick look on his face accompanied by more arm waving and eye rolling, "I know. I mean I know I know . . . you know. But what—and what—I mean how—no, I mean what, or do I? Yes I do. I do, do I? Yes. But—how can I—is there anything that I . . . . ." and he closed his eyes and mumbled "my head hurts."

Concern and empathy was plain on Felix's face and he said simply, "you have to do something Ron. For Kim's sake."

Ron's face stared at the both of them with a very definite 'why me?' look. But the equally firm looks on both Monique's and Felix's face answered the question for him.

_You're her boyfriend. You're all she has!_

Ron closed his eyes and his face slowly pulled together as if he was forcing himself to focus. Then, that look that they rarely but were more frequently seeing came onto his features and as his eyes came back open, it burned with a steady fire. It was the look that meant that he was focused, was thinking, was right on it and that he had made a decision. He suddenly turned around and started back towards school.

"Where are you going?" asked Monique, now perplexed as to what she had started.

"To get the big guns," was Ron's terse reply.

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Kim trudged drearily up the hill toward her house. Everything was in pain; body, mind, and soul. The body from the fact that she had absolutely no concentration or control at her Kung Fu classes that evening and her instructors had beat her up and thrown her around like a blow up doll.

Her mind was in pain from sheer overload from everything that she had been trying to deal with over the last couple of weeks. It seemed that other than her times of quiet with Ron, every waking moment and three quarters of her dreams had been confused jumbles of utter chaos.

And the pain inside her—

Her deep, deep anger at her Dad over what she felt was treatment of her; his 'precious little baby girl' attitude. The power of the anger frightened her and she was scared to death that it _might_ not be just a reaction to everything else that was happening to her, that it _might_ be that she really _was_ starting to hate her Dad! What was even worse was the 'hate for" and the 'guilt inside' herself she felt for being so angry at him.

Kim's grief over Rufus and her gut wrenching worry about Ron over his loss compounded with her concern and worry about how what was happening to her and how it might be affecting him. Her anger and self-loathing over what she felt was her inability to show him just how much his quiet steady (and yes, still goofy) presence was the _main_ support that was keeping her going through it all.

For her other normal pillar of support was dangling in the wind and that was a fresh, raw wound for both parties involved. Her Mom, in response to continued rise in critical follow-up surgeries in her field as a direct result of the Diablo disasters, had been forced to go into a pool of surgeons working the entire center of the country. So her Mother had been on average, home only one or two days in ten in the past several weeks. The only saving grace had been that those days had been ones in which especially putrid incidents had hit the fan.

But even then, her Mom had been almost totally taken up with trying to corral and control her husband from banishing Kim to Black Hole Deep (for her own pureness and safety of course). But while Kim more that appreciated her Mom doing all that, she still had had almost no time for _her!_ And Kim desperately missed and needed her Mom on something other than a speakerphone—

And her Mom knew it—

And both of them had thrown up barriers and walls of selflessness and guilt so that it was difficult for them to just do anything let alone . . . . . talk.

And finally, there was Kim's equal hatred of herself at her eroding self control and esteem that was causing her to look into the mirror each morning to find a slowly eroding person. A repeat of what had happened when she had been trying to 'make up' to Ron but this one, undeliberate, unconscious, insidious, slowly overtaking her, turning her into a listless, uncaring, sloppy, unkempt stranger who'd actually lost it and got suspended for attacking another student. Who knew what waited for her when she entered her house in moments and was confronted by her parents (how fortunate that her Mom was home for this one) with this final last straw.

She figured she was due to be grounded to her Dad's space station with Frederick the Space Monkey for the next several millennium.

She came up her driveway, something tugging at her senses that there was something there that needed notice but she was too wasted to care. She reached and entered the front door, her tired complacency immediately broken by hearing several voices coming from the front room, two of them, voices most unexpected as she came to a halt in the foyer and stared with open mouthed amazement and sudden fear to see—

"Mr. Barkin? Ms Whitler?" as well as both of her parents and Ron sitting, apparently talking earnestly. That was what had been out in front that she hadn't registered. Barkin's car and another that she hadn't recognized that must belong to Whitler.

Barkin and Whitler immediately glanced at each other and stood. "I'm glad we agree," Barkin said with what sounded like a pleasant voice, giving her parents who now stood to shake both teachers hands, a nod of acceptance.

"Thank you for coming," her Mother told the departing pair, pure gratitude in her voice. Kim noted with growing agony that her Father said nothing and that his face was set and without a trace of emotion.

Kim tried to keep the panic out of her face as she looked to the two teachers as they went past her on their way out. Whitler didn't even look at her. Barkin gave her what would pass for him as a slight smile (a corner of his mouth jerked for a moment). As she heard the front door close behind her—

_Please,_ she whimpered to herself, _I can't take any more stress. I cant!_

"Come sit down Kimberly," said her Father in a very neutral voice.

She started into the room, arms going to clutch her own shoulders as if she was shivering from the cold. She glanced from her parents to Ron just as her own Mother looked to him and said, "Ronald, please?"

"Ah . . . yeah. I'll wait up in her room." And flashing her a warm but wary smile he darted off for the stairs to her loft.

_RON! NO!_ she screamed silently to herself as she watched him go. She looked back to her parents—

"It's okay Honey," said her Mother soothingly as she came forward to take Kim's arm with a loving touch and lead her to the couch. But Kim's eyes were still on the hard, blank look on her Fathers face and her insides were quickly locking up tight. She allowed her Mother to sit her across from her Father who also sat with a grumpy flop that startled Kim more that she would like to admit. Her Mother then quietly backed away and glided out of the room.

_MOM! NO!_ As Kim's fear turned into terror as she was now alone, unsupported, with . . . . her Father.

At that point, her Father did not look at her and this added to her terror even more. Seconds seemed to turn to years as she looked at him, appalled at the fact that she was ready to bolt and run from her own Father rather than face whatever was at hand.

So tightly was she wound that she actually jumped and felt a wave of light-headedness pass through her when her Dad suddenly blew out a tired breath. He started to fidget with his hands and several times his head started to rise and his mouth started to open, only to have them close and it drop again.

And a wave of shame and grief rolled over her with the realization that, _he's trying to talk to me and he cant do it. My own Father can't talk to me. Has it really come down to this?_

And she, without conscious thought, prodded him gently, "Daddy?"

He glanced up at that, their eyes met and they found each other there.

But neither person found was truly recognized by the other. Had too much had passed? Had too much—?

"I wont say," he said abruptly as if forcing himself to start, "that I think of myself as a bad parent."

Horror filled Kim and she started to open her mouth but he held up a stopping hand.

"Lets be honest, God knows we need it," her Father said, making it sound like a pronouncement.

Kim subsided and waited.

It took a moment for her Father to settle and ready himself. What came out was clear, heartfelt, and colored with pain and regret.

"What I will say is that I'm an excellent parent for two pre-teen mad scientist boys but when it comes to beautiful almost adult daughters, I have a lot lacking."

"Daddy," her own pain and guilt filling that word—

"Kim please. Lets look at the facts. Like what your Mother and I hoped would be an excellent, well behaved child, you have always come to ask questions or advice when you felt the need."

He phrased it as a question and waited until she bobbed her head in agreement.

And he took what had to be a pained breath before going on. "And I always tried to respond to all those didn't I?"

Kim sat and looked at him, so many emotions tearing her up inside that she was afraid she would crumble at his feet for she knew the answer and if her Father was going to force her to say it—

"Daddy, PLEASE!"

"Did I or did I not Kimberly?"

Lowering her head in shame, her voice barely audible, ". . . . . no, no you didn't."

A grim smile came to James Possible's face but his voice was the gentlest that she could ever recall.

"Your right, I didn't."

Kim's face came up to gaze at her Fathers. And he asked just as softly, "and what were the questions that I always avoided answering?"

Kim wiped at her runny nose and tried not to sound angry when she said, "anything having to do with boys or dating or anything having to do with the fact that I'm a young woman and—" she caught herself in time before she said—

But her Father said it for her, "and that you're not a little girl any longer." Kim's head dropped back down and gave a nod of acknowledgement. "I," he continued, "always managed to pass those off to your Mother didn't I." His Daughter nodded again. And finally, "even," his voice was now heavy with guilt, "those questions that you wanted to hear answers from the aspect of a Father or even worse, a male, so that you could get a clue to one of those endless mysteries involving one of 'those boys."

"Yes Daddy," Kim's head didn't come up, but there was clearly anger in her voice now. "It would have been nice for you not to duck and run at least once or twice in the last couple of years. It's not like I could have gotten the answers, or even just input, from someone like Ron who would be the only other 'male' I trust dearly enough to ask something like that."

Her Father nodded and sighed. "I know. I wish I could change."

That brought her head up with a snap, at which time he added, "but I cant."

Confusion and denial swept through her. "Daddy, what do you mean you cant—?"

Now her Father gave an exasperated snort. "Simply said, I was never ready emotionally or mentally to be the parent and Father of a girl." He now gave her a lopsided smile. "If you think boys are a mystery, you don't have a clue about what I think of 'girls'. Has your Mom ever told you everything she went through just to get my attention in college let alone anything beyond that?"

And the grin faded, "and again, simply said, while I found that I could 'manage' little girls, I have found that I can't accept that those girls eventually grow up," and now his head dropped as if in shame, "nor can I accept that those girls will probably sooner than later find boys, and everything that implies."

"Daddy," Kim started, suddenly afraid for him, "you don't think—"

"Kimberly," he interrupted her, misinterpreting her as well, "I know just as well as your Mother and all your friends that nothing happened in that Boarder Base other than you taking a shower. The young man at cheer camp however—"

Kim colored.

"And the problem is," he went on, "is that I don't _want_ to control my feelings or my actions however they may effect you. It's like you have so much freedom and control in your life now, how much decisive input do I have left?"

"Do you think that when you ground me?" she growled but there was an easier tone to her voice now.

"And I realize," he continued as if he hadn't heard the comment, "that I have probably been going a little too far out in right field the last couple of weeks and I need to apologize for that."

Kim sat fully upright, blinked in disbelief, suddenly holding her breath and incapable of daring to wonder what was coming next.

"I guess," her Father continued, finally sitting back and allowing her to see fully, the sadness and regret in his eyes, "that I was just seeing the picture from my narrow, hyper paranoid, 'parent' point of view. I had no idea—" and he sighed heavily with a grim shake of his head, "and I guess the truth be known, I also didn't want to know, just how all this stuff might be affecting you out there." And he waved his hand in a flapping motion at the world outside of the Possible home.

He now looked at her with a face pleading for forgiveness. "I know your Mom has tried to tell me. I don't think I've ever managed to shut her out of my head as well as this has done. And while you don't need to know the details, you do know your Mother and what her reaction to those kinds of things can be so it will suffice to say on the days she's been here, that breakfast and bedtime have been more than a little frosty of late."

He snorted again and shook his head, "Heck! The twins have even tried to tell me! But I just couldn't bring myself to listen."

And a small, slight smile came to the corner of his mouth. "It took Ronald," and her Father had to stop a moment and then say in a _very_ considering voice, "your boyfriend," Kim looked at her Fathers eyes and could not read all the emotions that raced through them as he said that phrase in that way. But her Dad then broke the gaze, dropping his head as if in shame to say, "It took Ron showing up here with your Administrator and your Cheer Coach, not asking, but demanding mind you, and believe me when I say that only from Ron would I take _that_ kind of stuff, that if I couldn't listen to you, him or even my wife, then at least listen to two not quite impartial but very concerned adults who had some very important things to say about it all."

And with that Mr. Possible came off his couch and came over, gently enveloping his daughter in a hug, saying softly, "And considering what those two very concerned adults had to say, I say to you that I am very, very sorry for making this unnecessarily rough on you, that I love you very much and that you better start getting your stuff together because Ms Whitler needs you desperately as her Assistant Coach at that Pre-State Cheer Camp coming up."

"Oh Daddy!" Kim cried into his arms, ecstatic that for the first time in she didn't know how long, that she was crying with happiness.

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Ron spent the time lying on Kim's bed with heart-in-his-mouth expectation. He desperately hoped that Mr. Possible would make the right decision from the talk with Barkin and Whitler; he seemed to have had all the appropriate reactions during the discussion.

At one point, he could faintly hear Kim crying and that worried him immensely. It immediately made him wonder if he had gone about it all wrong and had made a total disaster out of the whole thing. He of course managed to work himself up to a point of concern where Kim would be ready to blame everything on him and would be a fire-breathing, flesh-rending, revenge-seeking terror when she came up the stairs.

So, when he heard feet hit those stairs, he tottered to his, half ready to run to the window and dive headlong out it for fear of his life, bad leg or no—.

And so, he got the shock of his life at the blazing look of joy on a certain redheads face as she came up at him like a rocket. All he had time for was for both his eyes and mouth to go wide as she plowed headlong into him, wrapping herself around him and locking _her_ mouth to that wide open one of his.

He felt her tug and twist and they were down on her bed. For a moment he was fearful that she would . . . . .

But he felt her start to relax and become more gentle and tender and he knew that she had gotten control and he could relax. At that moment, she broke the kiss, hugged him with fierce strength and with a tear strained voice, whispered into his ear, "thank you, oh thank you—" and she just kept repeating it as she hugged him between times of deep kisses.

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And a last kiss at the front door, much more gentle and chaste than the ones in her room as the 'rents might be watching. With a lingering touch of fingers—"see you tomorrow," she whispered at him. He gave her his goofy smile and a wave and started off as jauntily as he could manage with the cane.

Halfway down the drive, as the true reality of it all hit him, that it had worked, that he had done real good, he gave a "Booya" and tried to do a fancy little step—

Of course he ended up flat on his face.

"RON!" came Kim's shrill cry from behind him.

He turned bright red when he realized that his lady had been watching him walk away from the side door window (what a romantic thought in itself) only to see him do a major pratfall. There was no justice in this world.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he repeated over and over as Kim wrapped her arms around him and hauled him back up to his feet. He left the blush deepen as she fussed over him—

Then it was back to a reluctant, not so reluctant goodbye kiss, which was not as chaste as before considering their distance from the front door and possible prying eyes.

Kim pulled her face back and touched his nose with her finger. "Straight home," she growled. "And by the streets. Don't cut through the woods, not with that leg, not in the dark, not with your ability to find every possible way to fall on your face."

"Yes ma'am."

Kim opened her mouth and Ron could see that she was going to try to strain to say the words. He grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug where he could breathe into her ear, "go in and get some sleep coach. That way you can prove your love for me by cranking the Middleton Cheerleaders back up to their winning standards. Which they'll need since they wont have their mascot present. OOFFF!"

Kim pulled away with an evil grin after digging Ron's ribs with a knife hand. "Don't get all ego on me Stoppable. Besides, you will be there."

Ron stopped rubbing his side and blinked in surprise. "There's no way at all that I can go since—"

He shut up when Kim reached out and took the rubbing hand, which she brought forward and placed over her heart, all the while looking at him with those bottomless emerald eyes. "You'll be there because you're with me, right here, in my heart, at all times and for forever."

Ron then gave her a goofy but loving smile. "See, you really don't have to say the words. You just use a different language."

Kim using the hand she still held then jerked him to her again, growling deep in her throat, "then lets just revert back to the original language, one last time."

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Kim came back up into her loft, eyes half closed with a mixture of fatigue and a desire to close her eyes and live the last couple of hours all over again. She rolled into her bed, snatching up Pandaroo into a death grip as she did so.

She was both frustrated and proud of herself. As she had been sorely temped to cross the line and try to show her appreciation for what he had done in other ways (even in her parent's house, even with her parents home. She was _that_ desperate to show him just how much she appreciated what he had done tonight and to show him just how much she loved him!). But she hadn't. She'd controlled herself although it had been difficult. And the pride was greater than the frustration, which felt good. In fact, right now, for the first time in far too long, everything felt good and maybe, hopefully, the dreams would be good—

And she could sleep.

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For the first time in far too long, for the first time in fact since before Rufus had vanished into the mysterious unknown, never to be seen from or heard from again, Ron felt at peace. He had done something really good for someone really good and he had done it without any screwball antics or Ron Factor accidents.

So with a jaunty step (or as much of one that he could manage with a cane), he headed home.

He rounded the corner off of the Possible's street and continued down the hill. As promised, he stuck to the streets, having normally cut across the block of open woods that separated the upper end residential area the Possible's lived in to his housing track. This made the trip much longer but he didn't want anything else to mess his leg up at this point.

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Like animals they packed together. They liked to think that it was because it was cool and it gave a sense of 'belonging'. But the real unspoken fact was that it was 'a pack'. Safety and anonymity in numbers. Fun and thrill in the chase and the kill with little or no worry about ones self getting hurt or having to take personal responsibility.

A pack human wolves.

And they had their quarry, their limping, wounded quarry, in sight. It wasn't going its usual route. It was sticking to the streets where there were lights, maybe cars, people. So there would be no play, no confrontation, no surrounding, no bullying and terrorizing, it would be a straight hit, in, take care of business, and out.

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Ron was enjoying the extra long walk. It allowed him the peace, quiet . . . . and personal privacy for some particular – stimulating fantasies about him and Kim. So his mind was happily occupied so he didn't even feel the soft night breeze.

When everything lit behind his eyes in a massive incandescent explosion, it was the suddenness of it all even more than the blast of pain in his head that disoriented and freaked him. Somehow, and there wasn't a bit of Monkey Kung Fu in it, he managed to stay on his feet as he whirled about in shock and confusion. Then what just had to be a second explosion of light made everything go BLACK!

Time had no meaning. When, through the pain, he was at last able to gather himself and open his eyes, it took him a minute to figure out what it was he was looking at. The fact that the only light was from a single streetlight up the hill didn't help. But after a moment Ron realized that he was looking down at the street pavement, that a rivulet of something dark was dribbling past his left eye to drip and splash on the ground in front of him.

After another moment, he realized that he was on his hands and knees in the street, that he rear of his head felt that something had split it open like a watermelon and that he knew—that he wasn't alone.

Ron then knew several other things. He was under attack, he was in a—lot of pain, and he was bleeding badly. He was alone, Kim wasn't here to save him and there had to be more than one of . . . . . . THEM!

That left three things to do.

Run!

Scream like crazy!

Panic!

So with a scream that scared _him_ (that was _his_ blood) he leapt up, blindly flailing out in all directions as he did so. He felt the cane, still tightly gripped in his one hand hit something but he didn't know what even as he tried to get his feet under himself. But he of course was unsuccessful as he felt himself trip over his own feet and lurch toward the side. There he felt himself run into something solid—

And human! And it was grabbing him, folding itself around him—

Panic! The flight part of Fight or Flight! Strategic Withdrawal to the rear with unreal haste! He didn't have any words to match the concept that filled him with incredible strength as he twisted and scrambled like a cat in a furball. He felt himself tear through and physically roll over the form holding him, feeling them both hit the ground with Ron on top.

He frantically scratched and tore himself free, jerking himself up onto his knees, his arms swinging wildly trying to ward the attackers off. He felt the cane, which he somehow had managed to hold onto 'whack' into something solid—

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As the human wolves gathered around their wounded prey, their cruel smiles revealed their evil anticipation of the joy they would shortly experience as they administered brutal pain and injury to the helpless quarry in front of them.

But to their own startlement, with a soul rending cry, the form they though was helpless after being subjected to two jagged edged pieces of concrete rock from the rear came alive in a detonation of vicious, controlled fury. The cane lashed out and caught the Fat One in the groin immediately dropping him to his knees. At the same time the prostrate, bleeding form leapt up and charged to his side in a ferocious attack that caught the Bald One in the gut with a full-force shoulder blow, the two of them wrapping up tight at the Bald One went down—

The others yelled and tried to move in, startled and frightened by the sudden attack of a prey they thought had been easy and already defeated. The Dark One moved in to grab the prey, only to see in an unbelievable martial arts type twist, the prey pull itself out of the grasp of the Bald One even as the pair of them hit the ground. The prey spun around, arms whipping like the wings of a bird and before the Dark One could react, that twice damned cane caught him square in the left temple and dropped the Dark One for the count—

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Ron felt 'something' crash to the ground in front of him and he tried to escape backwards in an uncontrolled flailing of body parts. He heard his own screaming. That and the pounding in his head kept him from hearing but he knew that others were yelling as well. In his roll around, blood had gotten into his eyes and he was blind. He had to get out NOW!

He spun about, having to guess a direction, dropped his head like a charging bull and dug his feet into the pavement—

And he ran headlong into—something—.

He felt his neck and spine jar, tweak and compress from the force of the blow. He felt whatever he had hit fold around him, heavy weight coming over onto his back—

It was going to push him to the ground!

With a full-throated cry of absolute abandonment to total fear and complete hysteria, without thinking about the ridiculousness of the situation, he tired to stand—

And the weight was gone—

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The Fat One was trying to get to his feet as the Prey whirled about. The Skinny One ran around the Fat One, screaming at the top of his voice "get him! Get him!" The Skinny One had a two foot length of steel pipe raised—

The Prey turned and charged without warning, head lowered like a bull catching the Skinny One right in the belly, folding the Skinny One around the Prey's attacking form. Then with a mighty cry, the Prey sprang upright, bodily throwing the Skinny One into the air like a bull throwing a dog where the Skinny One crashed down on top of the Bald One on the ground behind them.

"Take him out!" screamed the Fat One.

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Ron was disoriented, nauseated with fear and pain and running now without thought. He tripped and stumbled around in a full circle, one hand whipping madly at his eyes so that he could see. He caught a bare glimpse of the streetlight up the street. He tried to swerve around toward it—his feet tangled—

He twisted, turned—

He started to hear loud "CRACK's!" behind him—

He tripped, started to fall—

He felt something pluck at an elbow, a brush past an ear as the 'CRACK's!' continued.

He felt his knees hit—

Just as something like a white-hot poker lanced into the rear of his—

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	11. Aftershocks and Secondary Devices

A/N: First of all, I want to say thanks to everyone who has taken the time to send comments and reviews on this little ditty. They are very much appreciated and I will basely admit that I'm afraid I'm getting addicted to them (when I get up at 2:45AM to go to work I have to check for new ones before I go out the door). But I especially want to thank Zaratan, MrDrP, vanillalilies, rye.bread, Charles Gray for sending me _something_ for practically each and every chapter put out since my 'return' and of course my good friend captainkodak1 with whom I correspond with on the side.

Second of all, yes, I want to apologize for the cliffhanger as I really don't like or believe in them myself. But going with my usual format of a chapter covering a 24-48 hour period, this one grew so huge that it had to be broken up into three parts (last chapter, this chapter and most of next chapter). So mental visions people of me hanging my head in shame for subjecting you to the stress and strain involved. You may rest assured that in the next battle reenactment that I am in, I will allow a German (if WW2) a Spaniard (if Spanish America War) or Egyptian (if Scottish Highlander), to kill me in you names.

So keep the cards and letters coming kiddies and I'll keep writing. Best to All. The Wise Duck

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Battlefield—West Skylark Drive, Middleton Colorado.

The Tiny One had been the standoff, the back up. There had been no way that he thought he would have to get involved but here he was, running out of the brush on the side of the street, the little pistol in both hands as he pulled the trigger repeatedly "CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!"

The Prey fell as the little pistol's slide locked back and a scream of triumph rose in the Tiny One throats while at the same moment the headlights of a car swept around the far end of the street and lit the battlefield up—

But not just headlights, flashing red and blue lights, and a screaming siren that none of them had heard; their heads buried in the moment. The Tiny One dropped the pistol and darted off into the woods even as the helicopter roared up overhead, it's 30 million candlepower Nightsun flaring out across the scene. But the Tiny One was already pinned in the FLIR Infrared. He wasn't getting away—.

More police cars screamed up over the hill as the Elderly Dog Walker, who had been unseen by all of them as he had just been inside the woods where his little lady had been doing her business, came out, his cellphone still at his ear as he talked to the Police Dispatcher—

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Panic!

Pure unadulterated panic unlike anything ever experienced before, not even when she'd been shot at.

Confusing, nauseating, gut wrenching disjointment of the entire space/time continuum that no one should ever be subjected too.

And there could be only one possible cure—

Kim almost blew the doors off of the ER but it didn't even register. Her entire being was consumed by feelings unlike any she had ever known and was at a loss to explain. Her world seemed to be at the verge of ending—

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She had just been dosing, blissfully cuddling Pandaroo (and wishing it was Ron) off when the sirens and the helicopter had disturbed her. From the moment her Dad had come back from investigating all the activity down the block she had had a strange, uncomfortable feeling. She had tried calling Ron and her uneasiness grew into downright fumbled fingered fear over the next couple of hours with each unanswered attempt.

She obviously couldn't relax, couldn't sleep. In fact she became more fidgety, more agitated. Finally, her restless pacing around her loft attracted the attention of her Mother who was up at three, getting ready to fly to Denver for another series of surgeries.

Her Mother was about to call Ron's Parents phone when their own main house phone rang even as her Mother stood next to it.

Kim felt her heart go into her mouth as her Mother answered it. And that heart stopped as her Mother inhaled a sharp breath, a hand coming up involuntarily to her mouth and she turned as white as her Residents jacket.

"Ron's been shot." Despite the fact that her Mother had whispered them to her, those words had literally screamed between her ears the entire drive over to the hospital.

The Staff of course recognized her, one of the nurses coming around to block her way, "Ms Possible?"

"I need to see him!" she wailed in a voice that was quiet and yet shrieked her pain.

"He's in surgery. I suggest that you join his parents in the waiting room."

"Nnnnoooooo!" Kim brayed like a wounded animal as her eyes exploded in tears. She felt hands that she knew where her Mothers close about her shoulders and gently push her numb person forward.

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A time that seemed out of sync and space.

It was later that another first occurred to her in a strange, disjointed way. Never before in her life had Kim sat absolutely still, staring at where the wall joined the ceiling for hours on end with her mind totally, completely blank. But she was determined to wait it out.

Ron had not been extremely long in surgery but he was to be knocked out for quite some time afterwards. The Doctors would not be specific with her but they had said that they had been very lucky and that none of the three wounds had been life threatening or even medically critical. But one of the bullets had lodged in an uncomfortable place and had taken delicate work to extract. Something having to do with this was the reason why Ron was being kept under for so long.

Kim's parents had gone long before, her Dad going home, her Mother choosing to use the overnight facilities right in the hospital.

Ron's parents had elected to go home as well, knowing that Mrs. Possible would be looking in on Ron frequently.

So once again she was alone

And she was refusing to think about anything. Because she knew that if she did, she would think about the fact that she was alone.

And the thought of being alone, without Ron, for the rest of her life, was just too frightening to think about.

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Monique didn't know what hurt the most at the moment, the headache caused by the way her face and jaw were clenched (so hard it was making her teeth tingle and her jaw throb) or the heartache caused by fear of the unknown in regards to the two very important people in her life whom she knew had to be at Middleton Hospital.

Monique had first learned about what had happened when Kim's Dad had called her through her parents at the crack of dawn. Mr. Doctor Possible had already called Felix's Mom and she and him had been over in minutes to try and help all of them all sort it out together.

Their arrival at school found it already in frenzied rumor and speculation to the point where Barkin was forced to cancel First Period and have an assembly for the entire student body.

As such, not much had been accomplished at Middleton High this day as the entire student body had been in an unholy uproar. For it was during the assembly that a wildfire of whispering erupted and made its way around the hall, focusing the rumor and speculation on a certain individual currently involved in a well known conflict with Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable.

It was general knowledge that Bonnie's 'second-in-command', Carla, was the daughter of some kind of Organized Crime goon and there had been repeated 'confirmed sightings' in the past weeks of Bonnie, Carla or the both of them meeting surreptitiously with various members of 'the Out-of-Town Gangsters' both on and off campus.

And now?

The two of them, Bonnie and Carla, standing in an opened area in the crowd as the rest of the students moved away from them as if they were suddenly diseased.

The fact that Carla was looking calm, innocent and perfectly detached in regards to the whole thing (as only a criminals daughter could be) only reinforced the rumors because everyone knew what a hard case she made herself out to be. And maybe she was.

But Bonnie—?

She looked like a wild animal trapped in a cage.

And the fact that Barkin, accompanied by what had to be two detectives went right to the two 'suspects' as soon as the assembly ended didn't help their cause.

Neither girl was seen again till after lunch. When they reappeared, it was the same story; Carla looked as if nothing had happened, Bonnie looked as if she had been dragged through an automatic car wash.

Now, Monique rubbed at the ache in her face. She knew that she should be on her way to the hospital and to her friends but there was something else that she and several others of Team Possible's Friends had to do first.

So she, Felix, Brick, Josh, Tara, Hope, Liz (along with most of the rest of the cheerleaders) and a half dozen other were waiting outside the gym where cheerleading practice was waiting for their 'Captain' in order to start.

"And just what is this?" grated out a clearly annoyed voice.

Brick looked over with a completely innocent look on his face, "we're just hanging out Ms Whitler."

The Cheer Coach's replying look clearly spoke her opinion of that statement as did the tone of her voice when she said, "I will not have any lynching parties on my watch. The Constitution guarantees that you are innocent until proven guilty."

"Ms Whiter," Josh said sharply, "Ron's been battling her in her war against Kim and there's been talk that it's gotten pretty nasty between the two of them. Now Ron plays fair. Bonnie doesn't. And she was seen more than once talking to gang members."

Whitler looker at him levelly. "Do you know for sure that it was gang members that hurt Stoppable? I haven't heard any official press release from the police."

"He was jumped and they say he was shot," injected Brick. "That's the kind of thing that gang members do."

Whitler looked to Brick. "The same question applies Flagg. Do you know for certain? Were you there? Have you talked directly to someone who was? Or is all this just 'talk'."

Brick lowered his head. "No Ma'am."

"Possible," Whitler went on, "and Stoppable must have some pretty impressive enemies after all they've done. How do we know that one of them is not responsible? Even to the point of contracting 'gang members' to do it as so it could look like a normal street crime."

"In Middleton Ma'am?" Monique said in disbelief. "I hate to be blunt," she continued, "but you haven't lived here that long. We're not a perfect city but what happened to Ron would never be considered 'normal' around here."

After a moment Whitler made a conceding gesture and Monique pressed on with her next point.

"In addition Ma'am, none of us think you really understand the . . . depth and seriousness of Bonnie's dislike for Kim and Ron. It has at times gone beyond . . . normal boundaries."

Whitler's face hardened. "Be that as it may, this is a matter for the authorities to work out, not for a student kangaroo court. Mr. Barkin and myself expects that Ms Rockwaller and all of her friends and associates will not be subjected to any harassment or intimidation. Anybody who does so will find themselves the subject of a similar investigation by the authorities. Do I make myself clear?"

Whitler received only silence and defiant looks but she knew that she had made her point. She then glanced at her watch. "Besides, being that the 'Captain' is now twenty minutes late, I suspect that for some strange reason she will not be showing for practice today. So I suggest that you all go home, cool down and give some thought to the possible criminal and civil liabilities of summarily convicting anyone without proper trial and opportunity for cross examination and defense before you do something that you might all regret at a later date."

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And at this moment, seventeen-year-old Bonnie Rockwaller was more than regretting that she was ever born.

There wasn't a word in the dictionary to adequately describe the multiple levels of terror, sickness or despair that was coursing through every fiber of her being at this moment.

As was the knowledge that her very life depended on her not displaying a single sign of it.

"YOU SET THEM UP BITCH!" the gang leader spit angrily into her face, so close that she could actually feel the wetness splattering across her nose and cheeks.

"I told you," she glared back at him, praying to God on high that they were interpreting the trembling of her voice and limbs as anger and not terror, "I told you right up front, that Stoppable was in some way that I wasn't sure of, dangerous. He does do the 'Save the World' thing with Possible you know. He beat that weird fish creature on his own at least twice and I was there for that. This last thing with the Diablo's, he apparently, from what everyone is saying, was involved in a one-on-one fight with some kind of human-like robot where he managed to hold his own. One would think that smart people like you who are normally aware of the odds of what or who you're going up against would be capable of figuring this all out for yourselves."

Then the Tall Gang Girl from school snapped at her, "then why are you always callin him such a loser and a nuthin and treatin him like such a piece o' crap?"

Bonnie, who could just _feel_ the smirk on Carla's face beating on the back of her neck turned to the girl, placing her hands on her hips in what she hoped was an approximation of her normal 'superiority' pose.

"That," Bonnie hauntingly, "was strictly a social thing. The Food Chain and all that. Stoppable is not even on it and therefore the subject of total contempt. And as that is one and only reason why I ever was required or needed to have any contact with him, that is the reason why my attitude was so shaped."

"And right now," piped up one of the other gang girls, "so are you so don't go all high and mighty on us or we'll be feeding you to another food chain."

"I got a good mind to do so anyway," snapped another.

Bonnie felt ice rip through her and fought back stabs of both fear and nausea. Somehow she managed to keep her face straight as she looked back to the gang leader.

His face was beyond angry, but there was just a trace of grudging respect there. He snorted once and spit on the ground by her feet before coming right back into her face to say in a low, quiet and very deadly, saying, "alright. But we're done! No more work for you and no more contact with any of our homeboys or girls, anytime or anywhere Rockwaller. And," with that, he hauntingly reached out and gathered a handful of Bonnie's hair which he ever so slowly continued to gather and then twist until the entire side of her head was a painful contortion of screaming pain as the Brunette teen teetered on the verge of compete collapse from her terror.

"My boy's," and the emphasis could not be stronger, "are in the lockup cause of you. And they're there for Assault with the Intent to Commit Murder. Now that's pretty heavy shit. Fortunately Tiny is a juvy with no record and our attorney think that we can pawn it off all on him as he panicked, that Stoppable is as dangerous as you say and that he was kicking our homeboy's asses and that it might even be in self defense as Stoppable had that cane that he was swinging around. BUT!" And now came the hard, tear jerking yank on the hair, "if any word gets out that this was a hit, despite all the rumor shit going around your school, if any _hard_ word gets out that you set this up as a hit on Stoppable and that we carried it out, it's HARD time for everyone."

Bonnie's eyes, through the tears and the pain got big around at the implications of this. But to him, even that wasn't enough as he jerked her hair even harder.

"And let ME make myself **_VERY_** clear when I say that the cops and possibly Juvy Camp will be the least of your worries if your part in this becomes known. Because you _wont_ be around to testify about it. **_UNDERSTAND ME!"_**

"Yes!" Bonnie screamed through the pain and the terror at which time, the Leader pushed her away as if she no longer existed.

The Leader then looked past the now forgotten Bonnie to Carla. "We would however, very much appreciate it if you would let your Father know that we have been more than satisfied with his arrangements so far and that we will continue to work with him through the channels already arranged."

"I certainly will," Bonnie heard Carla answer.

The gang members turned around and started to walk away. The Tall Homegirl hesitated a moment and said with a pointed finger, "one of the Homeboys taken down was mine. If things go real bad for him, you're going to be seeing me."

"Stay clear of us alkie," another one of the girls called, "or I might not be able to control myself." They then walked away.

Bonnie was already stumbling back past Carla, back down the alley toward the street they had come in off of. Her pace was fast. As she came around the corner, now of if sight of the retreating group of gangsters, it got faster. As she reached the end of the alley, turning right onto the street, she broke into a full run and managed to reach where her Mom's van was parked where she literally fell into the gap of the gutter between the curb and the wheels even as it all overwhelmed her at last and the puke exploded out of her.

She'd been sick before from the flu, more times than she could possible remember from booze, but never had she been sick from pure terror. It encompassed her entire body and mind. The included anguish, hatred for a multitude of things and people, self loathing and shame, especially when she realized a part of her her body had followed her stomach and had . . . OH GOD!

Finally, all told, she was left literally limp and helpless in the gutter in her ownmuck sobbing so hard that she was unsure how long it was before it registered that there was laughter in the air.

Her head slowly came around to see a grinning Carla looking down on her.

"Oh how the might have fallen," the black hair girl chuckled.

"Help me," Bonnie managed in a barely audible groan.

This brought out a hearty laugh. "Baby you are beyond help." Carla controlled her mirth and again looked down with contempt. "I hope you realize that as of now I own you Rockwaller."

Bonnie was only able to blink dumbly in response.

"An anonymous phone call to the cops that would lead them to a copy of a video of you making the deal for the hit on Stoppable. That would be a pity. But then again, we really couldn't do that could we? You being an accessory to Attempted Murder and all. That would mean a phone call to the gang saying that you were going to go to the cops about it? That would only get you dead."

Bonnie's face now was at last able to register the horror that was at last creeping into her being.

"W—wh—?" she barely managed.

Carla smiled. "Oh there's nothing you can do for me right now. You are and have always been a nothing. Several of the girls in what is now 'my posse' however will be of a great deal of use to me and my Father as their parents are in useful positions. I must complement you on _that _at least; you are capable of choosing good cattle stock. But you, ppuufff—" and she flicked a finger off in contempt. "You are soooo narrow minded. All you care about is social status, making like a slut so you can manipulate males and your stupid fucking Food Chain."

Carla chuckled evilly. "My Papa had to get out of Jersey for a while and here I am. In the middle of backwater, middle-of-nowhere, middle-of-do-nuthin Middleton. I thought I was going to be bored to the point of death. But you my dear," and the evil chuckle again, "you gave me a hobby. Between just the fun of tearing down a do-gooder like Possible and giving you every hassle I could, getting 'your' plans and posse into a position to where they would benefit the . . . . . little plans my Papa has going in order to make the time of this lame excuse of a burg go by, has actually made it enjoyable to leave my tiny little hovel of a house and venture out into this backward hick slum you call a town."

Bonnie could only look at her but Carla read the thoughts in the prostrate brunettes eyes and laughed heartily. "Yeah, I AM the bitch aren't I? Hey, to make it where I come from, bitch isn't a strong enough word while you, shit, you would be considered nothing more than a neighborhood speed bump to be rolled over, followed by being beaten into working at some high-roller cathouse somewhere and when you were too burned out to continue that, you'd be sent out as a mule to haul dope up from South America. 'I' on the other hand," and she laughed happily, "Papa is someone. And I will be too when my time comes."

And the Mob Daughter leaned in close with a hissing leer, "and thanks to you, my time is starting now. Our 'Gang Friends', whom I couldn't approach because I was a total unknown to them except for those nasty 'meaningless' rumors, are already providing transport and muscle for several interesting marketable items coming in from the Coast. And depending on how long we're stuck in this berg, that could be just the beginning."

And as fast as a snake, Carla's hand snapped out, grabbed Bonnie by the back of her hair and slammed her face down into the muck of her evacuations, smacking Bonnie's forehead _hard_ into the pavement.

"But," and the other girls voice was now deadly, "if for one second you think that you can weasel out of this? That you can think that you can somehow escape the fact that you are responsible for the Attempted Murder of Ron Stoppable, that you are responsible for a half a dozen gang members to be in jail where their looking at long sentences and their families, girlfriends and fellow homeboys are just itching for someone to do their ritual 'payback' too, if you think for one second that if someone was to let just one little piece of any of information out to one Kimberly Possible about who is responsible for everything that has happened to her over the last several weeks considering what _her_ reaction would be; then consider this _very_ carefully."

And Carla then bent Bonnie's head back, back, BACK until her neck was stretched ungodly and the back of her head was touching her back and a silent scream was tonelessly whistling out the tortured girls throat. "Let out one loose word," the tone was now sadistically pleased," note, letter, phone call, anything to anyone you might think might have some interest in any of this, one tiny little fraction of a mention about anything involving Me, my Papa, ANY of this little operation, and, in the true tradition of the Jersey Families, and you and all of the members of your family will simply cease to exist. Do you have a working understanding of exactly what I mean?"

Bonnie, dazed, disoriented, eyes unseeing, almost reduced to simple subhuman reactions, was only able to give a slight nod against the incredible strength of the other girls pull.

Bonnie only heard Carla snort, heard her say, "good luck finding any new friends loser. Yeah, LOSER. I like that. You're really a bigger looser than that Stoppable jerk. At least he does things for friends and for a decent cause while I do them for money and power. Real power, not the High School Social Food Chain kind."

And Bonnie's head was again slammed down into the pavement and things went BLACK!

She wasn't sure how long it was but Bonnie manage to roll her head onto the side so she could at least breath through the muck covering her face. Watching wavering, star-spangled vision through eyes that were detached from her brain, she saw, from looking under her Mom's van, Carla's feet and legs crossing the street away from her. An expensive car pulled up, the door opened and slammed shut and it drove away.

Her thoughts, floating in nothingness separated from her physical and mental pain.

And those thoughts were of how could she have been so right about someone and allowed herself to ignore it.

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"Kim?"

Kim snapped upright, instantly awake, with such force that she cracked the back of her head against the wall behind her. That caused her vision to blur but she fought back.

"What? Ron? Is Ron—"

She felt a firm grip on her shoulder and she grasped at it with both hands to steady herself.

"Are you awake?" asked the voice that she now recognized as Mrs. Stoppable.

"Is Ron okay," Kim repeated blinking her eyes to try and focus them.

"He's awake," was all the older woman would say.

Kim shook the cobwebs out of her head. She had fallen asleep in the same chair in the waiting room having not moved, eaten or drunken since her arrival. Her bones and muscles screamed in frozen, bloodless protest and she over willed them and fought herself to her feet.

But Mrs. Possible's hand was trying to hold her down.

"I'm okay, really," Kim said urging the older woman to let her go. "I need to see Ron."

"Do you?" was the sharp question.

Kim involuntarily pulled back from the tone, literally shoving her brain onto gear to look over and try to understand—

The look in Mrs. Stoppable's face and eyes said it all and part of Kim's insides crumpled under that gaze.

But the rest of her would not back down.

"You can have no idea," Kim said in a low, suddenly choked voice, "how I feel about this—"

"I could care less," Mrs. Stoppable snapped back at her, cutting her off. "It was bad enough when he was chasing all over the world and some crazy person was trying to kill him. At least, most of the time I tried to believe that it was for a good cause. But THIS" and the word was spit at Kim, "This was over some stupid rivalry involving the cheer squad and my baby gets shot down in the street like a common THUG!" The hand was released from her shoulder and Mrs. Stoppable backed away from Kim as if she was a pariah.

Kim literally could not believe her ears as this literal 'last straw' hit her with the force of a building. All the strength drained from her body, her knees giving way, buckling under here, her body collapsing down onto her haunches as she turned as white as the floor and her stomach threatened to loose what little it had in it.

Wide eyed and slacked jawed, the teen looked up at her boyfriend's mother whose face was almost unrecognizable in its righteous fury and all consuming grief. Everything that had survived in her up to this moment died inside her as Kim saw those emotions and—the—the hatred, and realized that it was directed at her.

The young woman could not believe—could not possibly fathom in a million years what her eyes were seeing; what her ears were hearing—

Terror, white hot loathing, it's own kind of panic, mixed with the fierce protectiveness that only a mother was capable of when her child was mortally threatened blazed out of Mrs. Stoppable's eyes. She didn't have to point or raise her voice. Her eyes were enough.

"You will break off all contact with my son. You will not see him, call him, talk to him, chat him, e-mail him, text him. I will not lose my only child to a girl who first of all is dangerously unstable emotionally for someone of his sensitivity, a girl who carelessly disregarded him, his needs and his feelings until it suited _her_ purposes, a girl who thoughtlessly drug him into countless situations that endangered his life _knowing_ that he really wasn't the kind of person who should be there and that the only reason that he was was because _she_ was."

_It's over _Kim thought.

"A girl," and the older woman's voice became even more bitter, "who made all this big deal about how she was such a 'regular girl' but you were always were the one in the spotlight, always the hero, while my Ronald was getting beat up by the bullies in D Hall for two years and somehow you the hero were _blind_ to that for all that time until switching with his body awakened you to it!"

Kim's head snapped back as if backhanded, _my life is over._

"A girl," and if the voice could get even more nasty, spiteful and malicious, "that is in no way a proper woman for my son because she cant even keep herself pure until her legal adulthood let alone marriage—"

Kim couldn't, wouldn't even listen to the rest as, as if she was an animal escaping a trap, she bolted from the room, one thought screaming through her soul, _MY WORLD IS OVER!_

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Ron lay half on his stomach in the bed, his eyes open but heavily lidded and glazed. Time was passing with no meaning to him. The pain in his rear and side, the massive fire ax throbbing of the back of his head was definitely there but remote due to the heavy medication (the litany of smaller cuts, burses and abrasions didn't even register to his mind). He was content at this point to just veg, waiting for his girl to bring some light into his very dark life.

A blob passed passed before his vision range and he scrunched his eyes in an attempt to make an I.D.. The hair was wrong. It was the nurse so he dropped back into veg mode.

The Registry Nurse came around the inside portion of the bed and checked the monitor feeds and the patients IV lines. Just as she was finishing this, she heard movement at the door and looked over to see the patients Mother coming into the ICU room. She gave the Mother a comforting smile and immediately came around to reinforce it was a hand on an elbow as well.

The Mother was shaking with emotion and reaction, barely holding in tears, and she reached out with both of her own hands to hold the nurses own elbows in thanks for the support. After a moment, the Mother was able to draw strength from the contact and get herself somewhat under control.

"I don't know how to thank you—" the Mother said with a shaky voice.

The Nurse smiled and waved her off, "you don't have too."

"I think I do," the Mother insisted. "You have done nothing but spent your own precious time, all but ignoring your other patients to sit and listen and talk to me since you came on duty twelve hours ago. And so much of what you said were things I had feelings about but didn't have the courage to put into words or action. Knowing that a prefect stranger would feel the same way under the same circumstances gave me the strength to do what had to be done. I know that there will be hell to pay when my husband finds out but I'm willing to fight that battle."

"And how about how your son will react to it?" the Nurse asked with an inquiring look.

The Mother pulled herself up to her full height. "He's a minor. He will do what he's told. I'll do whatever I have too, right up to the point of your other suggestion. If I have to force this family to relocate to another city for his sake, I will."

"What other city," another female voice asked in sudden surprise from the door. The Registry Nurse and the Mother both snapped their heads around in surprise to see the medium tall, statuesque woman with bobbed, collar length fiery red hair wearing the coat of a surgical resident looking at them with mingled looks of slight shock, worry, confusion and wariness on her face. Mrs. Doctor Possible then continued to step into the room, eyeing Mrs. Stoppable with a look of wary disbelief, asking in a carefully neutral voice, "and have you seen Kim, she's not in the waiting room or the cafeteria."

It was all Mrs. Stoppable could do not to run from the room as she felt the nurse suddenly step away from her as if she had turned into a coiled snake. It had all seemed so easy up to a moment ago. Now that the confrontation was here—

"Ah—Dr Possible . . . "

Those intense sapphire eyes seemed to be looking right through her as if they already knew all the answers, knew that those answers were selfish and wrong and were ready to lecture her like a true mother should (for she was such a failure as one she knew). Inside her she scrambled to find mental high ground, and she knew she was in fact—falling.

"—Doctor . ."

"Where's Kim?"

(Tongue cleaving to roof of bone-dry mouth even as the tone in the Doctor's voice sparked some backbone into her and allowed her to say) "I asked her to leave Doctor and at the same time, while I really do appreciate everything you have done for me and my husband as well as for Ronald of course, you are not his physician so I am asking you to remove yourself from this matter as well unless there is some medical necessity that requires it."

Those sapphire eyes narrowed and became (_Riboynoy-shel-oylom_) . . . . very . . . dangerous. Mrs. Stoppable felt herself wither under that gaze. She found herself literally holding her breath, for the moment not recognizing the woman she thought she had known at least a little bit.

"I see," the Doctor replied with what was obviously carefully chosen words. "Well, I of course will professionally respect your wishes. But having been a good friend of your son and having spent a good many dinners, barbeques, and outings with his parents (Mrs. Stoppable _winced _at the bite in those words) as well, I would hope that a little more of an explanation would be in order. I will assume that the . . . . emotions of the moment are precluding that but—"

"It's—It's quite simple," Mrs. Stoppable stammered, trying to get her feet and mind back under her (and her gaze away from those eyes). "Your daughter is responsible, however indirectly for my son being _there!_" as she waved a trembling finger for emphasis over toward the ICU bed with its monitors and tubes and leads. "My child. My _ONLY_ (choking back tears) child could have died over something as _stupid_ as his sticking up for her over this cheerleading spat!"

Some (but certainly not all) of the fire in Mrs. Possible eyes was replaced by pity and understanding. "I see," she said quietly. "And I understand—"

"Do you," was the accusation shot back at her. "How could you possibly—"

"About the agony," Mrs. Possible overrode the distraught Mother with the sheet force of her personality, "of the possible loss of an only child? No, I cannot fathom that and towards that you are completely right and just in your feelings. But I", and she leaned in close her sapphire eyes blazed to make her point, "I _have_ actually been there, several times, seen the two of them, your child and mine, doing what they do best, together, and I've seen the danger and the peril first hand and what I have seen with my own eyes can only make what you can imagine pale by comparison."

Passion literally now blasted out of those eyes, blowing away at all of Ron Stoppable Mother's barriers and defenses. "You and your husband met in Temple when you were in your late teens. James and I were in our late years in college. Both you and I, our loves and our lives with our mates have been rewarding and loving as we have been partners and friends with our men. But Kim and Ron met in preschool. They have been inseparable since! In less than one year they will be legal adults! Can you possibly conceive that any attempt to separate them now, now that after all this time they have finally come to realize and to have the courage to admit to each other that they are way beyond the life mates that you and I know, but are in fact complete and true soul mates to each other. Do you honestly think any plan to break that bond, once forged, is going to succeed?"

"I don't care," Mrs. Stoppable suddenly _screamed_ back, trying to resurrect her arguments, trying to find her righteousness, trying to do something damnit because she KNEW she was right. The Nurse agreed that she was. "I—"

"WHAT is going ON? Don't care about WHAT?" another voice now interjected itself as Mr. Stoppable came into the room.

"Oh NO!" Mrs. Stoppable wailed as she turned and ran to hide her face in the corner of the room.

Ron lay dumbly in the bed. He could hear the conversation but other than recognizing the voices, he really couldn't tell what was going on. One thing did seem strange to him though. The nurse was standing next to his bed and it appeared that she was intently watching the others in his room. It also appeared that she was wearing something around her neck that she had fished out and was fiddling with as if pointing it back behind him. But he couldn't focus his eyes well enough to figure out just what it was.

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Shego was hungry, tired, cranky, rigid, sore, cranky, stiff-necked, bleary-eyed, cranky, put out, peeved, cranky, angry, ready to kick some butt and downright cranky. Getting woken in the middle of the night by an emergency message that a major shit-hitting-the-fan event had happened followed by eighteen straight hours of damage control work to see if she could somehow take control of the incident and turn it to their advantage seemed to be paying off as she watched the Mother of Kim Possible and the Father of Ron Stoppable verbally and violently battle it out with the Mother of the Princesses boyfriend via the tiny camera in the pendant around the neck of the ringer they had managed through an world moving effort to get into place.

It was her Hacker who had suggested the line of attack. He had had voyeur friends monitoring Stoppable's Mothers phone conversations with her sisters for some time and had made Shego aware of the potential conflict between the Mother and the Girlfriend. There had been a mad scramble to get Mob assistance to poison the scheduled ward nurse for Ron Stoppable's room (only to the point of major sickness-not death) while her Hacker made sure that a Mob "Nurse" (a real nurse but also a intelligence gatherer and assassin) was 'next up' on the Registry list to be called in on sick relief.

Then had come the real teeth grinder. They had hastily brought in a 'panel of experts', a bunch of quack psyches and shrinks to advise the ringer of how to play Stoppable's Mother, them hearing the Mom through the pendant, then giving the proper return advice back through the ringers earbug to move Mommy in the direction Shego wanted.

But for the first fifteen minutes, the quacks spent so much time arguing their various theories, schools, disciplines and opinions among themselves that _nothing was happening_ and Shego, in a screaming hissy fit, graphically told them just what she would do with a very dull carving knife to a very private part of their male anatomy if they didn't get _her_ shit together and get this thing rolling.

They did.

So, for the following twelve hours of so, when the ringer was able to be alone with Mrs. Stoppable, it was listen, nod, understand, sympathize, agree, talk, point out, explain, convince, plead, badger cajole, demand!

And now, but the sounds of this muted but very heated argument, by the fact that Mother Stoppable had said that she had banished Princess Kimberly from her sons life and that in fact, Madam Possible could not find the Princess anywhere about spoke volumes about THAT, all of it was indications of success.

She pushed herself tiredly upright into her chair, one hand pushing her unkempt and tousled hair back over one shoulder. She didn't even try to pull the muscles on her face into smile but she did try for a somewhat cheerful tone as she was dealing with 'outsiders', "okay people, good job. Lets call it. I think we've done more than enough damage for now and it will fester on its own for a while. I want everyone to get some rest right away in case something else hits it. To our outside contractors, thank you for your assistance and I look forward to working with you again (NOT!). To our nurse on the scene, outstanding job! I will arrange a substantial bonus with your employers for a job above and beyond. Thank you and good (she glanced at the clock) afternoon everyone."

She pulled her headset off and carelessly threw it on her keyboard, not even bothering to power down her station. She heaved herself to her feet, drawing the robe about her that had been all she had had time to throw on when the crisis started. Then, without so much as even touching any of her waiting logs or paperwork, ignoring the remains of the hastily eaten meals on papers plates strewn about her desk, without so much as a glance, word or thought, she turned and walked away, her face set so hard that it was a mask of stone.

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When Shego got to her quarters she went right to the bathroom. When she came out of there, she went right to the bar. The drink she made was large and it was straight and she did it all without thought as she had been doing so for the last several weeks. For she had eyes that did not see the room around her as she collapsed onto the couch, her mind in a withdrawn whirlwind she had not known since she had made up her mind to leave Team Go.

When the door to her quarters chimed and her eyes blinked back to the present, the only indicator of how much time had passed was the fact that the glass in her hand was now three quarters empty.

And she was suddenly even more cranky when she realized that such was her state that she wasn't even feeling the alcohol.

Her door chimed again.

"Go awayyyyy," she sang in an angry pitch.

And in response to the denial of entrance, the door opened and in strode Dr Drakken.

Shego flushed, she didn't know wither anger or fear led the way. "Excuse me Doctor—"

He stopped and pierced her with his eyes. "This is my lair. You are my employee. No part of this facility is off limits to me at any time. If you have a problem with that, I'm sure the sharks are hungry."

She came up slowly onto her feet with the hand not holding the glass clenched into a fist that started to glow. _I could end this all right now. Whatever madness that he's doing. And there's too much that I know now that tells be that it would be right! I _KNOW _that something is going on here—. He's not the Drakken I once knew and—_

"You have something to say Shego?" he continued in challenge.

With effort she controlled her emotions, suddenly turning back to the bar where with angry, violent movements, she refilled her glass with another full straight shot.

"What do you want?" she choked out as she worked.

The Doctor snorted. "I thought I would be nice and answer one of your long standing questions. But if you're going to have such a snotty attitude—" and he turned as if to leave.

Shego was tired and pissed off. But being that she hadn't even seen the Doctor for weeks, not since the night—. "What is it you want to tell me Doctor? You wouldn't of come here if you really didn't want to say it."

The Doctor wheeled back on her with pointed finger. "You tread dangerously Shego. Your disrespect will be the end of you. I will have the complete respect of all who work for me or they will know the consequences."

Shego again felt her emotions flare. She knew that unlike anyone else in the lair, she alone could battle her way to safety should the Doctor actually go off the deep end or lose it and call the goons to haul her off to the Shark Tank. But . . . . that was the 'Old" Doctor Drakken. This one. She wasn't sure just what—. Shego was torn . . . worried . . . there were things . . . . reasons . . . . . why she was still here, why she hadn't taken off for the hills once she—

Having to use ALL of her self-control, she managed to suck it in and say, "I'm sorry Doctor. It won't happen again." She however, didn't even bother to turn and face him when she said it.

"Very well," he replied in a low, slinky voice. "I am sorry if I disturbed your privacy. I _thought_," and she was soooo glad her back was to him for her eyebrows climbed clear through her forehead by the fact that he had actually put an emphasis into a word, "considering the amount of badgering you have done about it, that the target date for completion of my project is approximately two to three weeks." With that, he turned around started to walk out of the room. But at the door he stopped. With out looking back in at her, he said quietly, "Shego, my Mothers birthday in the middle of next week. As my work at this critical point will not let me get away, I would appreciate it if you took her my present for me. Could you do that Monday for m?" and the Good Doctor left the room without another word, Shego's door clicking closed behind him.

It took both of her now wildly trembling hands for her to grip her glass as she drained it in a single gagging, throat-scorching, stomach wrenching engulfment. _What is it that he's going to do it? Can he really do it? Is he really capable of doing it?_

Never in all of her varied and 'interesting' life, could Shego ever say that she truly was—

_I'm scared spitless. I mean, I wait a couple of days after that thing which had to be signs of Hypno conditioning to go back to that psych hospital that I busted him out of so that I could get his records and look up the 'keys' and what do I find?_

A trembling hand reached for the bottle and again filled the glass, the action taking all of her control at the loss of a considerable amount of the liquid sloshed over the edges.

_Why had _ALL _of his records had been _stripped_ from the place and _ALL_ of the staff there that had been contact in with him transferred to locations so unknown that not even my hacker can find them!_

She took great gulps of the glass, amber liquid spilling down her chin to soak into her robe. _Why did my hacker, when he went looking for copies of those files only find the most miniscule fragments of them? Why, when he did that, did he come under immediate and violent counterattacks that he said almost fried his systems, almost all the systems in the whole lair. And what he did find—_

She tired to drink again, tired to finish the glass. It dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers to smash on the floor as her stomach and mind again lurched. She frantically gripped the edge of the bar as the room spun around her.

When things stopped spinning, Shego managed to lift her head and looked fearfully at the door that the Doctor had gone out of. _What have you done Drew? Why is there a United States Attack Submarine with an armed and primed cruise missile circling us slowing at a range of a hundred miles? Why is a B-2 Bomber with a 'classified' payload being kept airborne 24/7, loitering five hundred miles to the east of us? Why is Global Justice, the NAS, MI5 and every other intelligence operation of _any _repute trying to get a spy in here and why is it that those who _have managed it_, just _happen_ to be the ones _you've_ fed to the _sharks_? And just what in the friggin hell is it about these _Dr Vaultaslof's _calculations that have them all so scared that they're doing all this while wetting their pants at the same time? And what _else_ is going on out there that my Hacker hasn't found out about or is too scared to tell me about?_

She turned back and looked down between her feet and the shards of the broken glass, her mind going back to the one relative paragraph that her hacker had been able to sift out of all the stuff he had found. Her eyes saw only the shattered pieces of glass and her only thoughts as she reread the lines of that paragraph in her mind over and over again were, "_is he really going to do it? Can he really do it? He can't . . . . can he?_"

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It was getting dark when she pulled her mini van into the driveway. A glance at the reflection in the garage door windows told her that James car was in the garage, _he hasn't called asking where Kim is. God! Please let her be here!_ She ignored the obvious wrong parts of that thought.

She got out, feeling as physically battered as if she had been in a fight and after a moment of actual frightened hesitation, she swept in the front door.

"Hello?" she called out. She heard Jim and Tim call from the back, followed by their noise as the bounded up toward the front of the house. Her head swept to her left as the figure of her husband came out from the kitchen door.

"High Hon," he said brightly as he reached out for a hug.

"Kim?" was all she said.

James Possible stopped up short, instant worry filling his features. "I thought she was with you and Ron."

Just as the twins reached to foyer, their Mother launched herself to the right even as she called, "did you check her loft at all?"

"Haven't heard a peep since I got home," the Father puffed from behind her.

"Boys?" she called.

"Haven't seen her", Tim started. "All day Mom," Jim finished in matching worried tones.

In seconds she was through the living room, into the wide den connecting it to the family room and up the stairs into the loft that was her daughter's room—

The three men of the Possible household were right behind her to find her standing forlornly looking about the empty space.

James Possible, more aware than one could possible be of his own faults and failing in this case, came up from behind the trembling figure of his wife and put his arms around her, saying quietly, "you better tell me what happened, so we can figure out just where we need to start looking."

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She had no memory or concept of _ever_ crying as hard and as long. She had totally lost control of all emotions and feelings as an entire thesaurus of them rampaged through her. She lost touch with everything but the raw open wound that had been her psych and she found that all she wanted to do was have it end.

One way or another.

It was dark. It was cold. She had no clear idea where she was, how she got there or how much time had passed. She thought she was crushing a pillow of some kind to her breast as her reality spiraled down into the blackness that was taking her.

_MY LIFE IS OVER!_

She wanted the Bad Things to Stop. She wanted her Life back!

Who was she that so many people hated and did bad things to her? She just wanted to be a normal girl. She would stop ALL the saving of the world stuff. All of it, every single bit of it, right down to cats out of trees, if they would leave her alone. She promised she would. **_SHE PROMISED SHE WOULD!_**

More than that, the people she _knew!_ She wanted her Dad, Ron's Mom, Bonnie, Ms Whitler to STOP HATING HER! She wanted her Mom to start loving her again. To pay attention and talk to her and care again.

And she cried harder still if that was possible. She **_crushed_** the pillow to her chest.

She wanted Pandaroo.

No—she wanted Ron! To Hold and to Have until Death do they part!

Death had come very, very close to taking him. As Death had come very, very close to taking her on that island.

She wanted to tell Ron that she loved him. She NEEDED too! More than that, she wanted to make love to him. Not have sex. But make love. What she had done with Josh and the other boy, the touching, the stimulation, the exploration, had been sex. She wanted, what she needed to do with Ron, was to make love to him -- to give herself to him in that ultimate way before one or both of them were DEAD from God knew what! 

At this point in her life, if she couldn't have Ron, forget about any of the other stuff, then Kim Possible was in fact (_MY LIFE IS OVER_) ready for death.

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A/N

A very slight change to the wording of the very last section (Kimberly's Darkness) of this chapter as it seemed to be causing confusion as to our heroines reputation and status in regards to her prior relationships with other boys versus what she has yet to do with Ron. Well, folks, there's a big dumb smile on my face, chalk it up to the Generation Gap, and applause to bAybiikAii and MrDrP for bringing this incongruity to my attention. And may it please all that the replacement phrase is the one suggested to me by MrDrP in his message to me (from my request for assistance as I was just LOST) and it is placed in the section verbatim as written by him. So thank you Doctor, you're a lifesaver.


	12. Searching both Outside and Inward

A/N

I wanted to thank everyone who sent a review after the last chapter and to all who have ever sent one, they are very much appreciated. I also appreciate everyone being patient as things are going to start getting busy with Scottish Highland Games (Queen Mary-Long Beach two weeks), Span/Am Demo's and WW2 reenactments all getting ready to start up again (and I still have huge holes in my back yard where I'm 50 percent through a total change out on my sprinkler system). This chapter turned out to be so huge that it has now stretched out into NEXT sub chapter as well (25,600 words for just the chapter and still counting) so the _story_ has not advanced as fast as I originally thought it would. I was also _forced_ to take the time to write my first humorous piece, 'LBD' in reaction to the drawing contest going on over at DeviantART. But that's okay, I needed the break. I'm also making headway in reading through all the backlog of old stories that everyone else has done that I missed, so things are busy. But we shall plug ahead (and I'm having so much fun).

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Battlefield Middleton, searching for the wounded—

It was well past dark, under the street light just up from where Ron had been struck down, that the various parts of the search party, huddled in their sweaters and windbreakers against a brisk early autumn breeze, their faces strained with worry and barely suppressed fear of thoughts they dare not entertain, got back together from their first sweep. Brick, with his new and current cheerleader girlfriend Jessica had, "checked the main part of the lake and river up as far as the caves above Ryan's Trestle. According to Monique—"

Kim's best friend was fiercely gripping Felix's hand and trying hard to keep a brave face. "Yeah, we, Kim and Ron, Felix and I," and she had to stop a moment and swallow against a tight throat, "spent a lot of time during the summer up on the hill above there watching the sky and the stars. We would go into the caves when we . . . . wanted a little more privacy." You could hear the blush in her voice.

Felix spoke up to cover Monique's discomfort. "We checked Bueno Nacho, talked to Ned, checked the woods and area around here between both the Possible and Stoppable houses, checked the school, her dojo, the mall—" an eloquent shrug expressed their failure.

"We checked the entire park," Tara said, barely holding back tears. Josh put a comforting arm around her as he filled in details. "The boathouse at the pond. The area around my mural. The entire area around her and Ron's tree. Not even any sign that she was there and gone."

Mr. Possible took in a slow, ragged breath and looked to his wife who was talking very quietly and earnestly into her cellphone. Without taking his eyes from her, he gave their report to the concerned teens about them.

"We went to every home of every one of those kid's that Kim would consider 'teammates' or partners' from the various activities and committees and her," and his head then swiveled to give the young people about him a very heartfelt and grateful look, "lesser friends that aren't out here tonight helping to look for her." He then mimicked a twin of Felix's shrug, as they all already knew the answer. He also left unsaid that there was no word from Felix's mom who was watching over the twins and standing guard at the Possible home lest Kim should show up there.

"Where do we look next?" Jessica's voice was almost pleading rather than asking.

Mr. Possible took in and held a breath as he turned his head back to his wife who was grimly closing her phone, giving him just a barely perceptible shake of her head. Dejection swept through him making his whole body want to sag. So many things he had done wrong. If only weeks ago he had listed to his wife or Ron.

"I think," Mrs. Possible said in a low, horse voice, "that you kids have done more than your share for tonight. You all have school tomorrow—" and her hand and her voice, with a no-nonsense snap to it, came up at the same time as the wave of protest started to erupt from the teens before her, "and the last thing my husband and I need right now is phone calls from _your_ parents wondering and worrying about you. So please, no discussion. If we learn _anything_ we will let you know immediately."

"Thank you all so very much," Mr. Possible added, looking at each of them in the eye. "You all know just how much your friendship has been appreciated through all this."

Brick, Jessica, Josh and Tara all, with great reluctance and much foot shuffling, nodded and all four giving heartfelt hugs to Monique and Mrs. Possible (with just the two girls adding in Felix and Mr. Possible) before they turned and headed toward the Josh's car and Brick's truck and their respective homes.

The two adults and two remaining teens then turned and started walking up the hill, working their way around the streets and slope to the Possible residence. As they came up the street, Dr Renton was visible in the big picture windows, pacing nervously and looking out every other second, stopping only when she saw the group, slumping with such an obvious physical movement of dejection that Monique heard Felix give what sounded like a little whimper of pain.

Once they got past the small group of media (the BIG crowd of them was still at the hospital, believing that Kim was there at Ron's side, not having a clue that she was missing) with definitely with no comment to them. After various pit stops and offers of coco and other sundries, the Renton's were loaded in the their van to take Monique and then themselves home.

Pushing the front door firmly closed on the outside world, Mr. Possible turned to his wife and with a look/tone of almost pleading disbelief, he asked, "they wouldn't help?"

His wife's head was hung low, eyes and voice closed in pain. "Wade's mom was more than a little put out that I would even ask. She said she's sympathetic and all about everything that she's seen in the news about what's been happening to Kim and all, but everything in her household has just been going from bad to worse."

The couple came into each other's arms, seeking comfort, and escape on every level that they could imagine. After a shuddering sign, Mrs. Possible was able to continue. "Wade, despite counseling, therapy, hypnosis, even combined treatments using drugs, has not changed his stance a single inch. It's apparently starting to rend the family pretty badly because now his parents _want_ to believe him but _can't_ because of the evidence."

She pulled back a little so she could look up into her husbands face. "Now, put in the fact that Wade's parents are under what one could say—considerable pressure from all of Wade's—associates? Clients? Friends? Research groups, major corporations, think tanks, universities. It's getting ugly. And the icing on the cake?" and she stopped there with a grim look on her face.

Mr. Possible's eyebrow rose. "Yes?"

"Apparently," she said tightly, "within the last two weeks or so, the government has gotten involved. They wont say why, but apparently it's to the point where there have been veiled threats to have Wade declared a Ward of the State and taken away from them."

"My Gosh!" Mr. Stoppable breathed. "They can't do that!"

"You're right," his wife smiled grimly, "they can't. But it hasn't made his parents very receptive to any request to let up on what's happening in their household for the sake of our daughter whom, for all Wade's mom can tell at this time, has just 'run away' because of an argument with her boyfriends mother."

She felt her husband start to deflate in her arms and she drew him back against her, holding him fiercely, knowing how much he blamed himself for so much of what was happening, all the while fighting off her own sense of guilt and blame with the full knowledge of despite all the good work she had been doing around the country, of just how little she had 'been there' for her daughter in the recent weeks of Kim's trial and misery. Well—that was going to change!

"What are we going to do Hon?"

Mrs. Possible leaned up the necessary amount to be able to speak directly into her life mate's ear and said softly, "your going to get some rest. You're dead on you're feet."

"But—but what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to the best source for answers, even if I have to be a Mother of a mother to do it, and blow another mother out of the water doing it."

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Ron Stoppable knew that he had several . . . . . eccentricities that made him who and what he was. It was an unfortunate fact of his life that one of these was a very fertile and active imagination. It was another fact of his life, that due to his long history of being the subject of so much . . . . . negative attention of such a wide and varied cross section of his peer group, that that imagination tended to conjure . . . . . negative (pessimistic, non-hopeful, gloomy, unhappy) images of the unknown when he _knew_ something was going on and no one would tell him _what it was!_

Fact-1: His mom was camped out with him, not leaving the vicinity of the room, (having her meals brought to here with his, using the bathroom in the room). There was every indication that she was planning on spending the night in her chair.

Fact-2: His mom and his dad were not talking. His dad had come by before the end of visiting hours, but there was a solid wall between his parents that existed only when they were having one of their real bad disagreements. When his dad was here, his mom was standing just outside the door in the hall. His dad had told Ron that he would be back tomorrow during his lunch period and then again after work.

Fact-3: Despite the fact that his time sense was all messed up, he knew that he had been in the hospital better than a day, he had been pretty well conscious about eight hours and **_HE HAD NOT SEEN OR HEARD FROM KIM!_**

Fact-4: Right when he started to really become aware of what was going on around him, his mom had been involved in what sounded like a really nasty argument with his dad and Mrs. Possible.

Fact-5: Since after that argument, he had not seen either of Kim's parents nor had **_ANY_** of his or Kim's other friends come to visit him.

Conclusion: . . . . . . . He didn't have a clue.

But all things considered, something must have happened to Kim to keep her away. When he tried asking his mom about it, she ignored the question as if he hadn't asked it. His fear, based on the fact that Kim hadn't appeared, that her parents hadn't reappeared nor had Monique, or even Felix been allowed by, when put in with the argument between her dad, Mrs. Possible and her mom, capped by the fact that his mom and dad weren't speaking to each other, was that something had happened to Kim and that his mom was refusing everyone access to him to 'protect' him and had 'camped' out on him to enforce that.

This had of course activated his overactive imagination, which was working overtime. As such, despite the late hour, despite the meds, he couldn't sleep (the pain wasn't helping either). But, being that he had thoroughly peeved his mother by trying to get her to tell him _something_, he was lying quietly as if sleeping. As the whole floor was quiet, one could almost hear a pin drop—

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Mrs. Stoppable was exhausted, confused, torn, sick of stomach and mind, unsure of thought and purpose but stuck on a course if only due to the sharp, tearing words of her husband with whom she found herself at war in a way that had not happened in all their years of marriage.

And now she was at war with herself, but she could see no path, no avenue that led to safety or salvation for any concerned.

She slumped heavily in her chair, as uncomfortable as she could be, intentionally so in pertinence for her transgressions. She burped; wincing against the foul, sour taste that came up from her knotted, upset stomach.

Then she felt more than heard a presence come up to her, her head snapping up, eyes coming open—

To see the face, the eyes of an angry red-haired lioness boring through her, a lioness who was standing RIGHT THERE!

Mrs. Stoppable almost fell to the floor as she scrambled out of her chair.

Mrs. Possible didn't move an inch to help her.

Mrs. Stoppable pulled herself upright, trying desperately to recover some of her dignity and establish her authority (and knowing that she had little chance of either).

Ron's mom started to open her mouth to get the first word in but she didn't manage that either.

"I am going to ask a question," came the low but clear and powerful voice, which 'snapped' with authority and _demanded_ respect. "I am then going to probably make a couple of statements and we will exchange some words. Then I am going to give you an editorial statement. After that—I have a patient I have to go see. But when I get back, I am going to talk to your son."

Pure righteous rage exploded in the breast of Ron's mother. Despite all of her other feelings, despite all of her doubts and guilt—'how DARE—"

"I dare!" whip lashed the reply, cutting her off in mid sentence, shutting her down in mid thought and doing it strictly by tone and note of authority without even a change of volume to the surgeons voice.

Mrs. Stoppable stared in shock, seeing that the warm, loving mother, the gentle, compassionate doctor, was gone. And that something, something that she had never truly imagined but had briefly glimpsed before—

In those flaming, piercing, _dangerous_ sapphire eyes—

Those same eyes which were now burning her, shriveling her mind and soul under their gaze.

"W—w—w—what do you w—want?"

"You told Kim to go away and never to see Ron or try to contact Ron again and she **_BROKE_** didn't she? She ran out of here like an crying animal didn't she?"

Mrs. Stoppable heard/saw/felt the words/tone/accusations and for the first time she realized, after everything that had been happening over the last couple of weeks—

"_Elokim Yerachem,"_ she whispered to herself, dropping her head in shame, eyes closed in prayer, asking for forgiveness for actions taken without thought, deeds done without consideration, words spoken without care.

Mrs. Stoppable then, without raising her head, said in a louder voice, "yes she did. And I'm sorry. I—I didn't think about how she was feeling and what she has been going through." Now her head came up for her eyes to meet those of Mrs. Possible. "I am truly sorry, and I hope with all my heart that you find her and that she is all right. But it does not change the way I feel about her and my son."

Mrs. Stoppable saw the other woman cock her head and give just the whisper of a smile, a gesture of something like, she had just confirmed what Mrs. Possible had suspected she would say all along.

It was an eerie, uncomfortable feeling. Especially when followed by Mrs. Possible's eyes narrowing and (if possible) becoming even more focused on her.

"Tell me, have you ever given any thought to the possible long term effects of any actions ever taken by you when you make a decision that effects the lives of other people who are under your control?"

Mrs. Stoppable had to give a perplexed 'blink' at this. "What on earth are you talking about?"

A grim smile came to Mrs. Possible's face. "You, as Ron's mother, are making in fact a very simple decision, he and his girlfriend are to 'break up'. But, the reality of it is this is much more complicated than such a 'simple' decision implies. My daughter and your son have been inseparable since pre-k. They are very deeply in love and as I said before, they are bound in a way that you and I could only wish we could know with our mates. So your decision isn't just 'splitting' them up, it is ripping a single, complete, loving being into two, emotionally gutted, ruined corpses. It is also removing a force from the local, national, and world scene to which we all owe more than once perhaps our very lives if not our freedom and liberty. And at the same time, your son, is less than two thirds of a year from his eighteenth birthday and one could successfully argue that considering his standing as a hero, that he should have a considerable say in his future despite his last vestige of legal standing as a minor."

Mrs. Stoppable felt her ire growing again at the lecturing tone in the other woman's voice, but the power of those eyes, beating her ego down between her shoulder blades, would not allow her to dare interrupt.

"So," Kim's mother continued, "here you are, making what is in fact a major, life changing unilateral decision for your son and at the same time, moments ago, realizing and admitting, that it also adversely affects my daughter as well. Who knows, she might have already gone somewhere and _slashed her wrists already_!"

Mrs. Stoppable physically rocked back at the change of tone in the voice (she also imagined that she heard something from Ron's room behind her but she was too focused on the woman in front of her to react). She swallowed against a suddenly dry throat and opened her mouth to plead—

"Fortunately," Mrs. Possible just continued on as if she had not said anything so horrid, "I believe that my daughter is made of sterner stuff than that. And I would also hope that you are beginning to get my point. That you have to consider _your_ responsibility when it comes to decisions that you make that affect other peoples lives, and if you truly have the right to make and or enforce those decisions."

Mrs. Stoppable stammered for a moment then sputtered, "I—I—I'm his mother! I'm just trying to do the right thing for him!"

Mrs. Possible's eyes narrowed. "And considering everything I've said, everything you know about the two of them, is just being his 'mother' enough? Is it _really_ doing the _right_ thing for them or could it be in fact something horribly _wrong!_ When they have their whole lives ahead of them? You're going to cut them off at the starting gate because of your fear? Without any input from them or _at least_ Ron as to how something like this is going to affect the rest of _his_ life."

"She's going to kill him," Mrs. Stoppable wailed.

"And being away from her isn't?" was the cold reply that smacked her right back in the face.

Mrs. Stoppable's mind rocked, it floundered, her entire concept of how she felt and how she was dealing with it was adrift and casting about wildly for some kind of anchor, some kind of sign. She couldn't understand how the other woman—

"You can't," she rasped back, trying to not look into those hard sapphire eyes, "be right in this. How do _you_ do it? How do _you_ deal with the knowledge that some slip up from my clumsy son, some final good break from some wacko scientist, some simple screw up like a badly packed parachute, isn't going to kill your precious daughter sometime next year or the day after tomorrow?"

If Ron's mother thought those eyes had been hard before, they now turned into cobalt diamonds that lasered straight through her heart. They were matched by a voice that was as hard as steel and as sad as death. "As I said, you need to understand the significance and the responsibilities of how some simple decision, affects others near and dear to you and potentially, many others far beyond that."

The eyes now drew back, took on a look of weary pain so intense that it sucked the energy right out of the soul. "There once was a woman," Mrs. Possible started, her voice draining of all feeling, leaving it a mockery as it was devoid of any of the emotion that was battling behind her eyes, "who despite her very young age, was so good at what she did, that she was made the mission commander of a multi-national, multi-agency covert operation striking deep into a terrorist county. She was ably assisted by an entire command staff that kept her up to date on all the appropriate intel, ops tempos, force friction and everything else that a 'MC" had to know. The OIC, was an old hand at operations, another woman by the way, with an unbroken string of successful missions going all the way back to the second world war. This old hand had taken the youngster under her wing and had brought her along to this point. This more or less was the young woman's graduation test after which the 'O'l Lady' planned on retiring."

There was a heavy sigh and those sapphire eyes closed for just a moment. When they opened again, the pain was worse. "At the commit point, everything said to go. But one of the bad guy groups was missing from the field. It just wasn't _there!_ Couldn't be found anywhere. And there was no explanation for it being missing. But _everything_ else was optimum. Everyone said GO. Even the O'l Lady said Go. The call was in the hands of the young woman."

"Her voice gave the command to GO!" A catch in the throat made Mrs. Possible stop before she could add, "even as her intuition said . . . . something . . . . different—very different."

Mrs. Possible turned slightly away, her voice now a whisper. "That young woman personally tried to lead in the rescue team only to be 'retracted' by the 'powers that be' while still on the way in. S—she was so angry, was so completely obsessed with the need to get them, the ones trapped by her order, and so frantically overwhelmed by the guilt of having given the order that—"

Mrs. Possible stopped and was silent, stone faced for more than a minute before, with a dead tone so heavy with pain that the hurt inside Ron's mom _paled_ beside it, "—that she actually shot and killed an entire group of unsuspecting enemy combatants that were blocking their way rather than taking the time to try and sneak around them or call for their surrender and risk the time involved with taking them in or of wasting the time if they refused and a firefight developed."

Mrs. Possible's face now came around and Mrs. Stoppable drew a sharp breath at the tears running from the surgeons eyes, the pain in her face, etched so deep and so profound that Kim's mother seemed to have aged a hundred years.

"Y—you actually did that?" Mrs. Stoppable whispered in pure disbelief.

A single bitter laugh escaped Mrs. Possible's lips as her eyes closed in pain, fingers wiping at the tears. When they reopened, they fixed Mrs. Stoppable with a stark, vacant gaze that showed a barren place inside the other woman that Ron's mother could not believe could exist.

"I never said it was me," Mrs. Possible said with the absolutely 'no tone' back in her voice. "If I was to do something like that, people with names like Smith and Smith would show up and there would be just a little bit of trouble." Mrs. Stoppable felt a stab of strange, irrational fear and asked no more. Mrs. Possible's gaze again withdrew, memories going back—

"Everybody said the young woman made the right decision. The people around her in the mission C.P., the troop commanders, the 'powers that be', the O'l Lady, even the few survivors that managed to get out." She snorted. "The young woman didn't." Mrs. Possible turned away again, one hand still wiping at those eyes. "She never will. And the thirty four men and women that didn't come back, that didn't get out—"

With her back to Ron's mom, she was able to say with a voice that carried, "and the responsibility of that decision? The downstream effects of that simple 'GO' order? Those thirty-four people? Their widows, widowers, children? The grandchildren they'll never know? Or how about the spouses they hadn't even married so there weren't even any children yet and there can't ever **_BE_** any grandchildren—DO YOU SEE WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT NOW!" as her head snapped back around _right into_ Mrs. Stoppable's face. "One little simple decision and look at the repercussions that it can have!"

Mrs. Stoppable was pale; it felt as if she had stopped breathing. She had had no idea—

Mrs. Possible folded her arms across her chest and took two steps away, swinging back around in a nervous, loose-legged little dance. "The young woman resigned her commission. Only the steadfast support, henpecking, mothering, the offering of a ready shoulder for one to bawl ones head off, along with constant, heavy doses of strong talking too's, attitude adjustments and downright butt kicking by the O'l Lady is the only reason why the young woman didn't become a lifelong alcoholic or even worse, take her own life." Mrs. Possible blew out a 'tired' breath and went on, "the O'l Lady badgered the young woman to use the basic degree she had from the military academy as a launching pad from something else. So she was a late starter into college but as she already had a degree, the young woman pretty much broke even."

Mrs. Possible stopped moving. After a moment, her head, and eyes came up, now steady and clear to look at the other woman with a determination and focus that was almost awe inspiring.

"The woman chose to atone for her misdeeds by becoming a medical doctor. Need demanded that she choose to become the most demanding type of that breed, a surgeon. Honor required that she become the style that was the most demanding, critical and risky of that, a neurosurgeon. Every time **_I_**" and the emphasis almost blew Mrs. Stoppable right out of her shoes, "pick up a scalpel, I am balancing the scales against past misdeeds just one tiny bit more." An almost warm smile came over her face when she added, "of course, the O'l Lady insisted that the college that the young woman attend was the same one her techno-nerd, clueless-as-to-the-fairer-sex youngest son went too and she made sure that the two came into often, close contact."

Mrs. Stoppable made the connection and breathed, "Kim's Nana was the O'l Lady?"

Mrs. Possible's smile turned bitter. "I have no idea what you're talking about. And my husband would have no idea what you're talking about as well."

Mrs. Stoppable sadly shook her head. "You've never even been able to tell your husband? You've never been able to tell anybody."

"Kim knows." Mrs. Possible said proudly. "She knows so that she knows how decisions and responsibilities are intertwined." Then one of Mrs. Possible's eyebrows threatened to climb off the top of her forehead when she assed, "and Ron knows as well."

"WHAT?" what all his mother could say.

"Same reasons apply."

Seven ways of shock and surprise ripped through Mrs. Stoppable. Ron knew something about this woman that not even her own husband knew. Things that she herself, despite the years of friendship the two families had known, could not have even imagined were possible for this woman whom she had always greatly admired and respected for her poise and work.

A million things seemed to race through Mrs. Stoppable's mind in a confusing, blurred pattern. So much that she had thought, 'normal' and 'stable' and 'everyday' this day were turning out not to be.

Mrs. Stoppable wasn't sure how long it was before she looked back up to see Mrs. Possible watching her. When she did, Kim's mom just nodded at her, saying, "I'm going to go check on my patient. Now you need to think on the consequences of your decisions and whether or not you really want to live with them. If you do, fine. All I'm saying is that you really need to think it through and look at it from everybody's sides. Even the children and the grandchildren, whether there will or will not be some, and if there are, whether or not you would be allowed to see them or whether or not they would want to see you."

"But before I go, I want to address and clear up some dangling points that have been left," and the eyes turned hard and deadly again. "My first big problem with this is that your making this decision, a decision which you not only presented apparently to my daughter and to me, but to your husband and your son as irrevocable, undeniable, unilateral and final without any input from either of them as well. What kind of repercussions is that already having within your family and how far reaching will they be if it is allowed to continue in that way?"

Now Kim's mom's eyes hardened back into the cobalt diamonds that sent shivers down Mrs. Stoppable's spine. "My second 'gripe' is that somehow, your being less than honest with yourself. You had the gall a little while ago to ask me how do I do it? How do I let my daughter go out into harms way, how could I let her do it starting as young as fifteen, into a world of crazies that were trying to take over the world, when that world involved mad machines, massive explosions, man eating sharks and alligators, jumping out of airplanes when she was lucky, getting pushed out without a parachute when she wasn't. You seemed unable to understand how can I live with that—live with myself—live with the possibility that at any time—"

Pride was now burning in Mrs. Possible's face like the torch of life, illuminating her entire soul. "Kim is her Nana's granddaughter and her mother's daughter. It's in her blood and her genes. She can avoid it no more than she cannot breathe. To say that I live vicariously though my daughter the life that I was denied—well, it could well be, although I do not regret any the last twenty years I have spent balancing the scales."

Mrs. Possible turned and started to walk away. After only a few steps however, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder, saying in a low voice, "now you know why I let my daughter go to Tokyo on a school night. What's your excuse for Ron?" And with that she walked away down the quiet hospital hall.

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Dazed, confused, feeling physically and mentally weak, emotionally paralyzed, Mrs. Stoppable walked as if in a dream back into her sons room to look down at his sleeping form to wonder, _am I right? Am I wrong? I—I don't know. What am I going to do?_ And as she stood, and as she watched him, his eyes came open and his head, the top of which was still heavily swathed in bandages, turned ever so slightly to look up at her so that even in the dim light, she could see the anger and accusations in his eyes and she realized—

"Oh Ronald—you didn't—"

"Every word mother. Every single word."

And she threw her face down into hands that flashed up as her eyes exploded in tears—

He just watched with angry eyes.

Finally, his mother, trying to pull herself together, brought her head, up and started to wipe at her eyes under her glasses and at her nose with sharp, angry gestures, almost snapping as she did so, "and I suppose you want to get mad at me and yell at me just like she did. Just like your father did. ME! Your own mother!"

"If I could," came the horse voice from the bed, "not only would I get mad and yell at you, but I would scream, shout, throw things." Ron's voice then actually rose and sounded _really_ angry, "in fact I am so completely pissed that I am ready to _hit_ you mother! Something I haven't been mad enough to do since you took my teddy away."

Mrs. Stoppable actually paled at this, all movements and actions coming to a stop as she looked and listened on her only child realizing the depth of his—

"Fortunately for the both of us," Ron continued with a much lowered voice, "anything other than moderate conversation right now would be entirely too painful to even contemplate."

His mom frantically groped in her mind for something to divert the conversation and could only strike on one thing. "Ron, you were thirteen. It was time to give up the stuff animals in bed."

The "don't change the subject!" came out with a tone that actually made her wince. This was _her son_ that was talking to her in this way?

"Ronald, I am your mother. I will have your respect and you should obey me for as long as you are under my roof—"

"Mom," and now his tone was so conversational that it made her pause, which in turn, allowed him to go on.

"With my . . . . government and international status, considering all things, I think it would take all of about one phone call for me to arrange to have any one of several attorneys and judges lined up to do all the necessary paperwork and documents to grant me an emancipation to legal adulthood."

That hit her like a slap in the face.

"That would," he went on blithely, "give me access to my Bueno Nacho trust fund of several million dollars so I could live on my own in far more comfort than I am living right now with you and dad."

THAT was a blow in the stomach that weakened her knees.

"And," he finished with a bored, offhand tone, "it would mean that you could not in any way, have any say or control over who could or could not contact me, see me or," and his eyes broke contact as his head on the pillow shifted away from her, "love me."

THAT ALMOST—

"Ronald," she started as the tears again started to course down her cheeks, "I'm only doing it for you. I'm only doing it for your—"

"Mother!" he said sharply and her mouth snapped shut with an audible 'click'.

They were both frozen for the longest time. Him in bed, lying propped on his right front quarter, tubes and wires running from his arms, head on the pillow but his eyes staring past his mom to a point somewhere out beyond the rooms wall. She was standing, her arms about her for she was shivering as if frozen through with the cold coming from her son. It was taking all her willpower not to cry out loud lest the staff down the hall at the nurse's station hear but she was slowing losing that battle.

Finally, Mrs. Stoppable turned as if to walk from the room, only to be stopped by her son's voice, "mom."

She hesitated a moment, then half looked in his direction, not daring to wonder what was coming next, afraid to make a sound herself.

"I love you," Ron Stoppable told his mother. "I will always love you. But you have to let me live the life that I have chosen. As Grandfather David chose, as great cousin's Abram and Jozef made their decisions. You are and have been so proud of them. Why not me?"

Now she saw his head turn so that his eyes were once again on her. And again he spoke, and his voice was soft, gentle. "And you have to let me love. You always told me when I was growing up that you have to love whom you will and once you find the right one, never to let them go."

Mrs. Stoppable slowly turned to him and took a slow, half sobbing, shuddering breath before barely managing to say, "Ronald, are you _sure?_ Are you truly sure that it is what it is and that it is not just misplaced friendship and gratitude from too many close calls where one or both of you could have **_DIED!_** I cannot honestly see real lasting love forming under the circumstances that you two have known. There have been too many emotions, too many hormones, too much adrenaline. It HAS to be a fixation, an obsession. And that can hurt or kill you as bad as one of your crazy mad scientists. And Kim—she seems so unstable sometimes—"

"She's passionate mom. Driven, impulsive, a perfectionist. But she can't find anything in a kitchen smaller than a refrigerator, bugs bigger than your thumb give her the hurls and she picks her nose when she thinks no ones looking. And I love her, and she loves me. So much that she can't say it."

Mrs. Stoppable stood there shaking her head as if in denial. "Ronald, you're all I have. Up till now, it all seemed so remote. The injuries you came home with, yes, they hurt me terribly but they _happened someplace else_. Now, first there was that Diablo thing, right here, here in Middleton and now _this_, again, just a couple of blocks from our house. It means that I can't even stop worrying when you're at home let alone when you're gone on a mission. Can't you see that? Can you see what it's doing to me? And you're all I have. If I was to lose you—"

"You and life would go on mom. Just like Aunt Sophie, just like cousin Diane. You would go on. Because I know you. You're strong. You would never had let me start this with Kim two and a half years ago if you weren't strong."

And then he reached out with the one arm that was free, the hand outstretched seeking hers. She hesitated, truly not believing at first what she was seeing. But the hand gestured, and she was drawn to it, both of her hands folding around it, feeling that it was warm, alive—

"And," were her sons soft words, "I can't say that there aren't going to be any more bad things that are going to happen. But again, you and dad have always tried to teach me from the example of David and Abram and Jozef. Not to live in a shell and let others dictate what happens to you. Now I wasn't a very good student because it was very had to come out of that shell when you were, and to certain extent still are, deathly afraid of everything outside it, but I understood the lessons even if I didn't follow them. Now the question becomes—did you? I'd like to think you did."

She stood there, feeling him squeezing her hand, thinking about his words. '_Not to live in a shell and let others dictate', like that nurse who practically convinced me that this was the right way to go about it. _Then the other words came to her as well, '_All I'm saying is that you really need to think it through and look at it from everybody's sides. Even the children and the grandchildren, whether there will or will not be some, and if there are, whether or not you would be allowed to see them or whether or not they would want to see you.'_ Mrs. Stoppable shook her head sadly. _There will be grandchildren. I can feel it. And I won't deny myself of them and their love._

She asked again, quieter, "Ron, your sure?"

"I couldn't be surer mom. The young lady and I have exchanged lives several times. Besides, no one else will tolerate my Bueno Nacho addiction."

Mrs. Stoppable dropped her chin to her chest and took a choked swallow that barely allowed her to say, "alright Ronald, I'll submit. I only want you to be happy.

She felt the hand inside hers squeeze her hard as her son's voice said, "I am happy mom, I have the best girl in the world . . . . . . . and she's holding my hand right now. She's my mom whom I love."

"Oh honey," Mrs. Stoppable broke as she leaned over into the bed and tried to hug her son as best she could, all the pent up, fear, grief, frustration, worry, pouring out in sobs that in moments had the nurses, (along with the displaced monitor wires which kicked off the alarms) in to check on things.

It was several minutes before relative calm was restored and as the room began to clear, Ron looked up and realized that—

"Mrs. Dr P, Kim is missing then?" he asked of the taunt faced woman in the surgical residents uniform that was allowing all the other staff to swirl around her. She noted with an inner smile that Ron was trying very hard to keep any vestiges of fear or panic out of his voice.

"Yes," she replied flatly, not looking toward Mrs. Stoppable who hung her head in shame. Kim's mom started to ask, "We've been out all evening looking. I was wondering if you had any idea where—"

"Park?"

"No."

"Boathouse?"

"No."

"Caves by Ryan's Trestle?"

"No."

Ron's face grew grave. "Then there is only one place she can be."

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Felix couldn't sleep. Heck, he couldn't even wind his mind down enough to get his hands to stop fidgeting. His problem was that he had _two_ friends to worry about and he just _knew_ that if Ron was awake at the hospital and Kim had not been instantly at his side, that his best buddy would be absolutely frantic at best—

And medically impaired at worst.

So after an hour, Felix gave up and decided to go out on his own, in a way that only he could. It took him another forty-five minutes to outfit his chair with the proper modules and software and get everything online and calibrated. He was shrugging into his jacket when his cell rang. It was Tara.

"Hi," she sounded upset, nervous, scared.

"What's the matter, is Kim—"

"Still no news about Kim—"

"Then Ron—" Felix felt his stomach tighten.

"No, nothing there either."

Now Felix blinked, perplexed. "Then what?"

"There—" and she hesitated, sounding very upset, "there were police here when I got home."

Alarm spread across Felix's face. "The police? Why?"

"Not just them Felix. There was a strange man, dressed in a black suit. They didn't introduce him and he never said a word, but he looked as if he could see right into your head and—"

"What did they want Tara, what's going on?"

"Not just that Felix, Brick just called. A different team of police, but with a similar man was at his house as well. And they questioned him a lot harder than they did me because they suspect that he might have done something because of the threats he's made at school."

"Tara," Felix exclaimed, both exasperated and slightly panicked, "what are you talking about? What did they want?"

"Bonnie's missing."

As this was the very last thing he had expected to hear, it at first didn't completely register on his mind. They, especially the police, had a lot more important things to deal with right now. Like finding Kim. Why could they possibly care about Bonnie? Right now, why would anybody care about Bonnie?

"Felix?" came Tara's hesitant voice.

"Yes," he said absently, still trying to assimilate this bizarre (to him) piece of news.

"I think we need to go look for her."

That brought his mental gears to a screeching halt.

"Tara? You can't be serious? If the police are involved like you say it's not something that we should stick our noses into."

There was a moment of silence, then a soft, cool tone that he had never heard in Tara's voice before. "And yet we all ran right off to look for Kim."

"That's different," he squealed, not believing that he was having this conversation. "Kim's our friend."

There was another long silence, then a hard, _cold_ tone that left unrecognizable the girls voice that he thought he knew, "and Bonnie _once _was my friend. And I think that she could really use a friend right now as the whole _friggin_ world probably seems to have turned against her."

"Tara!" Felix was trying very hard not to have a mental meltdown as all his gears were now grinding into chunky gravy, "she set it up for Ron to be SHOT!"

"I DON'T BELIEVE THAT!" came back the voice with such power that Felix's head was literally blown away from the earpiece. He sat for a moment, staring at his cell. He had never heard such passion and conviction from Tara. How could she know? How could she tell? Gingerly, Felix brought his phone back up to his ear to say, "okay, so tell me, why do—"

"Will you listen?" she snapped at him like a whip. "Monique just gives me that _look_, Brick told me that if I mention it again, he'll hit me, Josh, my own ever loving boyfriend, has been blowing me off—."

Felix could hear the tears and frustration in Tara's voice. She had something she wanted, she _needed_ to tell someone and no one would listen because it was something that no one wanted to hear—

"Can you get out of your house?" was all Felix asked.

"I have a balcony on my room."

"And I have a flying wheelchair. Give me your address?"

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Tara's heart was in her mouth, her stomach was wrapped tightly around her lungs—

And the feelings thrilling through her made her want to cry out with pure exhilaration as she held on with both arms tightly around Felix's neck (and one of his arms tightly around her waist), her platinum blond hair streaming back over both of their shoulders as she sat in his lap, speeding through the night sky above the lights of Middleton.

Never had she thought, despite her friendship with Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable, would she _ever_ be privileged to the kind of experiences and adventures that they knew on a daily basis. It ignited the blood! And that could lead to things—

All too soon they reached the river and turned west. In moments, Felix made another adjustment swooping over the low crest of Donal ridge and there they were.

Felix brought them down for a landing. They were just short of the old pioneers mill on Donal creek. Felix was giving is dubious looks. "Do you really think—?"

Tara nodded as she slid off of his lap. "We use to come up here all the time. It—" and she hesitated, it sounded as if she was blushing, "it was kind of our first party spot when we were just freshmen and we wanted to feel 'big' and 'old'." Tara then sighed sadly in the darkness. "It's where she brought her first bunch of boyfriends. That's when we started to drift apart. I wasn't ready for that and she—"

"She's here." Felix suddenly said with a firm voice and Tara whirled on him. He was looking at a screen on the arm of his chair. He then pointed with one hand as he went on to say, "Kim's brothers helped me rig up a sensor suite for this thing after the Diablo mess so I could help find people easier in the rubble of buildings. There's a van parked over behind that hedge that is the same type as what Bonnie's mom drives and I have a person sized heat source inside the mill."

Now, confronted with the reality of it, Tara hesitated. She was not normally this forceful, this direct, this—what if she was wrong about it all? What if she was just being foolish and romantic and silly and—

"Come on," said Felix and he even grabbed her hand as if sensing her sudden indecision.

Tara allowed Felix to lead her, trying ever so hard not to appear as if her feet were now dragging.

They reached the large bay door, which fortunately was open enough for Felix to roll through unassisted. Inside it was pitch black, banished moments later as wide angle flood lights rose out of the back of his chair—

And Tara screamed—

As Bonnie Rockwaller, eyes squinting up into the sudden harsh light, face as pale as a ghost, a face that held no expression having lost all will to live even as a hand took the shattered shards from one of the many empty and broken liquor bottles surrounding her and ground its sharp edges into her wrist.


	13. Reflections of Dark

She was cold.

She was so very cold.

She could feel every part of herself shiver. She could feel the actual coldness of the outer layers of her skin if it came into contact with something.

And then there was the coldness inside her, the ice that had frozen her heart and had put out the fire of her spirit.

The world was dark—

Her soul was dark—

She really wanted it to end—

It was so cold. Even the pillow she was clutching to her chest was cold.

She wanted it all to end.

The pain.

The hurt.

The anger.

The hate.

_Please God! Let it end!_

She was still shivering . . . . . . . . so cold.

She **WANTED** to end it.

. . . . . . . . but . . . . . but she was—she was afraid—

_I can't do it. I just can't do it. I CAN'T do THAT! I'm not strong enough; I'm a coward, A WEAK COWARD!_

For in her core, in the center of her being, she knew, despite it all, despite the cold, the emptiness, the dark, that she was not the kind to _do_ that. She had always fought the darkness.

Now she might want to welcome it, she might pray for it to take her in order for her pain to stop—

But she could not embrace it. She would NEVER embrace the darkness! It was not in her to do so! Even as cold and as frozen as her core was, she would always **_FIGHT_** the darkness.

But that meant that she had to endure the cold—

The pain—

The hurt—

But that meant that she would have to endure—for how long?

How long is eternity?

The pain?

The hurt?

She didn't know what to do? She didn't have any idea to where she could go, no place to run, no place to escape. And she couldn't remain for there was nothing here for her.

There was no hope, no refuge, nothing left to hold on too.

She had lost Ron.

And she had never even said those _stupid freaking words_ to him.

And it was her fault.

It had all been her fault. She saw that now. The words of Ron's mother had made it so clear to her. They confirmed her own doubts and fears, the ones that she had been having all along, despite her attempts to voice them to Ron, his assurances that they were unfounded or her cheap, superficial attempts to right her past wrongs toward him. She _knew_ that she was unworthy of him, the reasons of which she had hidden deeply in the back corners of her mind. But Ron's mother had confirmed them in the most blunt and forceful way.

_And like his promise to his respected elder regarding not having sex me, I would have to honor his moms wishes given those reasons she named. Because his mom was right, I had started it all by dragging him, HIM, he who was afraid of his own shadow let alone everything else, into danger that he had no business encountering. I mean, to him it was always no big about how he was scared but HE WAS SCARED! And God! How I always disregarded, disrespected, and ignored him, his wants, his needs, even having the balls to be so jealous when he was actually good at something, determined to keep the spotlight on myself. And I AM a slut. The pure fact that _THAT_ is what started all the problems is all the proof I need. Ron so deserves so much better than what I am._

He was so much better off without her.

. . . . . . . . But _she_ couldn't live without him.

So what was she to do?

Maybe it was best if she just closed her eyes. It was so cold. Maybe nature would do for her what she didn't have the courage and strength to do for herself. If not, maybe . . . . . she didn't have an answer—

She was such a coward!

"Kim?"

_. . . . . Kim, is the darkness calling you?_

Then she had the strangest sensation. It felt as if she was slowly being gathered into someone's arms and pulled, like a little lost child, up into their lap.

But the arms that entwined around her, the legs she was pulled across, they burned her they were so warm and as she was pulled tightly up against a body that was to her like fire—

"Kim baby, you're so cold." And this registered as she felt a second presence and felt as if something, maybe a blanket was throw around her and the blazing body and she felt the warmth start to flow into her flesh, but her mind, her heart, her soul, screamed out, resisting the voice, and she started to squirm about.

"Kimberly? Kimberly Anne? Wake up baby, its mom."

". . . . . . . . mommy?"

A fierce hug took her and she felt hot wet tears on her cheek.

But she didn't want to accept the warmth. That would mean that she would have to accept a world without Ron and she couldn't do that.

"Let me go," she wailed as she again started to struggle against her mother's arms and the blanket that was wrapped around them both. A second set of hands now reached out from the outside to help hold her in place.

"Kim, baby," she heard her mother's voice say, "it's going to be okay."

"Nnnoooooo," she wailed as she started to struggle harder.

"Kimberly please," her mom pleaded, "Ron is waiting for you."

That brought her to a shocked pause, followed by a horse, disbelieving, "no, NO, you're just saying that."

"Have we ever lied about anything like that to you Kimmie-cub," came her dad's totally choked voice from behind the second pair of hands that held her.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Kim Possible opened her eyes. In the dim light from the flashlight lying at her fathers feet, she looked first to her father, then to her mother, to their faces, to their eyes, for the conformation of the words the spoke.

She saw it and just the smallest bit of warmth started to run into her but still—

"But Ron's mom, she's so mad at me!" came the voice from her body, sounding just like a little girl from pre-k who knew she had been bad. "And she's right. Everything she said is true and—"

Mrs. Stoppable," her mom said in a level tone, grabbing her daughters eyes with hers and using them to convey the true meaning of her message, "has figured out that while her of her arguments had some validity to them, in the end, they did not justify all the damage that the disruption to her son's life that they would cause."

Kim shook her head refusing to read the message in her mother's eyes. "But mom, she was right, I'm not worthy of Ron."

Kim," came her mother's 'mom' tone, which was soft but _very_ firm, "Ron is waiting for you and has been for far too long. Unless you want the poor young man to have a relapse of cheese withdrawal—" and she left that hanging as if it was the worse possible fate in the universe.

Kim, still in the depths of a cold heart and a extinguished soul could only shake her head, "No, no, it's can't be. She was soo mad. I know what I have to do. I think its best if I—"

"Kim," interrupted her father. She looked over to see him passing over his cell phone. Her mind a blur and lost with everything going on, she took it thoughtlessly, saying into it, 'yes,"

"Now," came that all too familiar voice into her ear, "while you're not quite as sexy as a naked mole rat, your all I have left. So don't even think about running out on me Possible. I want to see what happens when red hair starts to go gray."

She froze, not believing that voice speaking to her. It—it couldn't be true? "R—Ron?"

"Waiting for you KP. Can't start healing until you get here." And with that, Kim stopped struggling and gave out a strangled, whispered, "no."

"Come to me my KP," said the warm voice to her. But she still couldn't believe. It had come too far. Too much had happened. It _couldn't_ be true. Or something, SOMETHING, was lurking just around the corner, just waiting to happen, just waiting to bring it all down."

In the dim light, Mrs. Possible cast an anxious look at her husband, frightened beyond all measure that all the fight and life had gone out of her daughter but hanging onto a long unused iron will not to show it.

Mr. Possible took the phone out of Kim's hand and said gently, "We're going to take you to Ron now Cub. Is that okay?" After a moment, they got a single, shrug like movement of Kim's head.

Mrs. Possible, the doctor in the head warring with the mother in the breast knew or at least guessed what was occurring and the mother won as she dragged her daughter into a crushing embrace, allowing her own tears to flow harder. But there was no crying, no whimpering. There, the will remained iron.

Mr. Possible looked on his wife and daughter, not really understanding anything but reading the look on this wife's face and making his own guess as another small flower of guilt blossomed inside of himself. He brought his phone up and said, "we'll be there shortly Ron, she's,—she's not doing too well."

"Yeah, well, I was afraid of that," came back the grim reply. "I'm just glad I called it right."

Mr. Possible, despite himself, had to give a small smile. "No one knows her better than you Ron."

He heard the young man snort on the other end of the line. "Yeah, but it's my tree house, and it seems to me that the last time she was in it, the conversation was decidedly unpleasant."

Now Mr. Possible had to snort. "Well, that must have been overridden by too many other pleasant memories of you."

"Get her here quick Mr. Dr P."

"As quick as we can Ron."

Now the young man's voice sounded choked. "Can't be quick enough."

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Kim was weak, only marginally responsive, and unsteady on her feet. Due to that, both her parents had to support her as they came in a side entrance of the hospital. She took without word a liquid meal drink and some additional supplements for her depleted body. So unsteady was she in fact, that the flying bundle of sobbing platinum blond hair that plowed into her as they passed by the interior portal to the ER almost took them both to the ground.

"Tara," exclaimed Mrs. Possible, "what are you doing here?" followed by an equally shocked follow-up when she looked down the hall and saw rapidly bringing up the rear in his wheelchair, "Felix? What is going on?"

"We'll explain latter Mrs. P," Felix advised with a wave off of his hand and a look on his face that told both of Kim's parents that it was a subject best left lying at the moment.

Mr. Possible was taken up by trying to keep his daughter upright, mixed with worry about her reaction as her face was obscured by a wildly flying cloud of now mixed blond and red hair that was rapidly becoming entangled as Tara was trying to wrap herself around Kim—

But Tara, sensitive as she was, almost immediately realized that her enthusiastic greeting was _not_ being returned and she worked to disengage herself. She stepped back away, strands of her hair still trailing out in front of her even as bits and pieces of red tresses fell away from her face. Tara's arms had recoiled, her hands coming to rest on her heart in fear of the unknown of this unexpected event. Her face, dipped low, was less than a foot from that of her friends and her eyes went wide with shock and sorrow when she saw the unfeeling, blank eyed stare gazing out at her—

_Oh my God,_ Tara thought. _Kim? No! Don't! Don't give up! Please!_

But try as she might, as frantically as the young blond searched her friends face, her expression, her eyes, looking for some kind of a sign—

Inside her, Tara again started to sob, but not from happiness this time. But outside, she slapped a mask on her features that would have done a medieval executioner proud. Her hands dropped to her sides as she stepped back, but her eyes stayed level, sending a silent message of love, support and hope, pleading—

Whether or not that message was received, there was no sign.

Kim was led by her parents with Tara and Felix following through the hospital to the ICU. The staffs talk ceased when the group silently entered. Tara and Felix stopped by the nursing station, Mr. & Mrs. Possible taking their daughter as far as the open door of Ron's darkened room.

Tara and Felix looked to each other in apprehension. Not sure of the source of their worry, one of the nurses said in a whisper, "the boy's mother went ahead and went home. Guess she figured that it would not be a good idea to be here when she (the nurse nodded toward Kim) got here."

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Kim didn't know what she felt. The reality was that she felt nothing. The reality was at this point she didn't _want_ to feel anything. She was so _tired of hurting_ that all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole somewhere and pull it in after her. Even now, as she stood at the door to the room that held her boyfriend, feeling the gentle nudges of her parents trying to urge her to go in, she resisted. Because she knew, that if she went in, she would have to _feel_, and _think_ and try to _reason_ when right now everything to her was dead, inert and numb.

Yes, she loved Ron more than life itself. But right now, life was nothing but pain, hurt, anger, and hate and it all was centered or directed right at _her_. And it had been happening for almost two _months_ and she had no reason to suspect that it was going to _stop_ because she had no idea why it had _started_!

And it _had_ to be something that _she_ had done! After all, she was the big hero (it was Team POSSIBLE after all), the 'pushy one' who had drug every one else in after her with her _stupid_ 'I can do anything' bull and look at them? Wade? Rufus? Ron? His Parents? Her Parents? She was destroying them ALL one way or another—

AND IT HURT!

Kim felt a stronger nudge against her shoulders and she took an involuntary step into the room. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought that it should be announcing her presence. There wasn't a trace of moisture anywhere in her mouth or throat. Her hands and knees where shaking so hard that her teeth should be chattering but they weren't because she was gritting them through the pain.

BECAUSE IT ALL HURT!

AND SHE DIDN'T WANT TO GO IN BECAUSE SHE KNEW WHEN SHE SAW RON JUST HOW MUCH THAT WAS GOING TO **_HURT!_**

She started to turn around, saw her parent's faces going wide in surprise, heard her voice croak, "I can't, I just can't—"

"KP," came the quiet voice from behind her and she _tried_ to bolt, running headlong into her mom who had suddenly displayed reflexes worthy of her daughter, jumping into her path and bear hugging her from the front—

Kim cried, screamed, tried kicking as that was the only part of her body that she could move—

Things were a blur to her; all she wanted to do was escape. Escape the pain, escape the hurt, escape the fact that everything was her fault even though Ron would never admit it—

She wanted to get away—"let me gooooo," a voice that sounded like hers wailed in her ears through the fog—

She had no idea how long it was before she was in fact just limp, being held up she thought, by the arms around her. She had no sense of anything—

Nothing at all—

Except—

Someone was . . stroking . . . . her . . . . . . hair?

Her eyes crept open which caused other senses to come on line. The best that she could figure out, was that someone, hadn't been her mom, had brought her to the very edge of the bed in the ICU room, and the hand stroking her hair—

Ron was leaning half out of the bed in order to do it. In the near darkness of the room it was difficult to tell, but the grimace of pain on his face at the physical effort was unmistakable—

Yet the touch of the fingers on her hair and head was gentle and so steady.

It was almost as if it was a dream, but it was certainly an unspoken movement of the three of them together—

Kim, assisted by her mother, slowly came up and as gently as she could, rolled into the bed even as Ron pulled back to the far edge to give her the room. He then spooned up against her as best he could, wrapping his arms about her as best he could, even as her eyes closed for his lips came near her ear and whispered—

"Believe that we're under our tree in the park. It's summer and we have wonderful days ahead of us. My arms are around you and will protect you for I love you and I will never let you go. Now sleep. For you are safe with me KP. No one can hurt you here. I promise you that."

And she felt those arms tighten about her—

And she felt just a little bit of warmth come back into her soul.

But what about tomorrow?

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There was no tomorrow. There was only hell. That was what today, tomorrow, and the day after, and every day—for now—and forever was.

Bonnie Rockwaller lay back on the hospital bed, eyes staring at the ceiling without seeing. For she could see no tomorrow. How could there possibly be a tomorrow when she had, either purposely, or though pure open-eyed **_STUPIDLY_** done every single solitary thing she could have done to totally and completely destroy so many different lives not to mention—

She had spent hours the prior afternoon and evening, soiled, filthy and stinking, on the hard dirt floor of a rotten, falling down old mill, finding the truth that was only available in the crystal clear bottoms of a couple of six packs and several bottles of 86 proof 'varnish remover'. Only then, had the full scope and horror of what she had done come home.

There were a half dozen girls, her 'posse', who, because of her, were now in the power of the daughter of a Mafia Chieftain and those girls, and through them, their parents and all, were in fact in the power of that same Chieftain who was ready and able to do—only God knew what with them. And _she_ had placed all those careers, businesses, and lives squarely in the hands of that greedy, sadistic little bitch as if handing it to her on a silver platter.

And she had done it with open eyes, ignoring her instincts and all the warning bells installed in her brain from cutthroat high school competition and life with two superbitch older sisters. She had seen it coming and had been blind to it as if she had been a ghost outside her body watching the tsunami roar at her.

For that was what she had created. She saw that now. And the wave had come crashing down to crush her. An entire gym full of faces and voices turning on her almost as one. The wave of anger and _hate_ that beat on her in that moment after the announcement of what had happened to Stoppable and the realization by every single kid in that place of who _must_ of been responsible. And in the minutes afterward, feeling the emotion, the accusations, the bare naked _blame_ beat on her from all directions. It had pulsed like something alive, waiting for a chance to rise up and strike her like a killer snake until the detectives had come and led her and Carla away—

She did not mean for it to happen! It wasn't supposed to go down that way! All she had told them was that she wanted to do was 'push back HARD!'

But Bonnie knew that it was useless. She knew that no one would ever in a million years believe that. She knew that they all believed that she had 'contracted' the gang members to 'hit' Stoppable when in fact all she wanted was for him to be majorly roughed up for scaring her so badly in the PE Office. No one would believe that it was Stoppable's own fighting skills alone that had caused the gang members to try to kill him simply because he had been kicking ALL their butts. No one would believe that the gang leader had threatened her with death if she ever even _hinted_ to anyone else that she had asked them to rough Stoppable up let alone 'hired' them to 'hit' him.

But it didn't matter. It was already 'knowledge' and 'fact' in school—

And where did that leave her?

No one would ever believe her in anything again.

Or trust her—

Or want her as a friend—

And once that 'knowledge' and 'fact' got back to Carla and the gang members?

Bonnie figured that she was a dead girl walking. It was only a matter of time. Either the gang members or Carla would decide that she dangerous because of the rumors in school or unstable because of her drinking and it would just be much safer to have her 'whacked'—

She didn't plan on giving them the opportunity.

Her mother had already made one appearance in Bonnie's hospital room that day. It had been enough. Her sisters? Bonnie could almost laugh. She knew that to them she already didn't exist. She had no 'family'. There was not a single solitary person that she could say loved—her.

There was nothing for her any longer.

She had managed to destroy herself even more thoroughly than she had been trying to destroy—destroy—des—des—des—Poss . . . .

There was nothing left.

Other than those she had hurt—

And, considering the magnitude of what she had done to all those others, what she had done to herself was insignificant. She had to atone for it. There would never be any way for her to make up even a part of her transgressions to all those she had wronged, so there was only one way. And she had the courage to do it. She just needed the opportunity—

And to be blind drunk at the time.

And, she glowered, looking down at the thick bandages that covered her left wrist, not to be interrupted right when she was in the middle of the actual act.

God! How she wished she were blind drunk right now. The five minutes her mother had spent with her earlier had seemed like an hour what with her mother's wailing and lamenting about how she had failed Bonnie as a mother one minute and then berating her daughter the next moment for putting her through this ordeal.

And then there'd been the cops—

They had of course hammered her on Carla and her father, saying that they could get Bonnie's charges reduced to a minimum (a couple of years in the youth authority instead of prison time charged as a adult) if she turned evidence and cooperated—

She didn't even say a word back to them, didn't even look at them.

It was as they were leaving that the weird thing happened thou. A man in a black suit (a real hunk is what her thought would have been once upon a time) came over and carelessly flipped a card over onto her nightstand, saying, "if you ever _really_ want to get this whole situation taken care of, and I mean completely, call that number." He left without a further word. All the rest of the time, except for the equally abortive attempt by the staff shrink to talk to her, all Bonnie had done was stare at the ceiling and wonder how long it would be until she could get her next drink which would allow her to make her next attempt—

"H—hello?"

Instant rage tore through her and she snarled, "get the _fuck_ out of here!"

Felix had actually preceded Tara into the room before the blond had announced their presence and he halted at the end of the bed while Tara stayed rooted just inside the door, blanching in shock and surprise.

"B—b—b—but Bonnie—" Tara started again—

"I said get OUT!" Bonnie shouted as she erupted into a sitting position, only the restraints tying down her hands and legs kept her from actually coming out of the bed and attacking the two who had kept her from finishing the job the night before.

Tara's lower lip quivered and her eyes teared up before the naked hostility blazing at her. Felix, his eyes narrowed with suppressed anger was already wheeling his chair about as he said, "Common Tara, there's no use in our being someplace where we're not wanted."

"You weren't wanted last night either," Bonnie spat. "So don't ever do me any favors, okay."

The next thing she knew was that Tara had crossed the distance between them and SLAPPED! Bonnie hard enough across the face to knock her all the way back down into the bed.

"Now listen you," and it was Tara's turn to spit, and she was doing so through the tears rolling down her face, tears that were hot from the fire in her eyes, "I know your hurting, and I know that you feel that the whole world is screwed and God knows what else and I DON'T CARE!"

Tara stopped and sucked in a breath as she tried to control the urge to sob. A look of naked shock was on Bonnie's face for all of several seconds before it fell back into sullen, angry disgust.

"I was your friend," Tara said in a now quiet voice. "We did so much together. I still want to be your friend. I know that the world must be ending for you but I can help, I _want_ to help!"

Bonnie managed almost a realistic laugh. "What is your problem blondie? EVERYONE hates me—" and she actually choked and closed her eyes momentarily at that. "How can you possibly think any different?" she finished with a horse tone.

Tara had to take a moment to control her trembling lips before speaking. "Okay, you were at war with Kim Possible. And you were fighting it as dirty and as nasty as you could. But something happened, I don't know what. And it got away from you. It was Carla wasn't it! Because I know you. I know that despite everything, you wouldn't have Ron attacked."

"And why wouldn't I," Bonnie snarled back. "He attacked me!"

Tara's eyes narrowed. "Bonnie, we were friends for years before . . . . . your . . wild streak made us drift apart. I know you better than most. And I think I know when you're lying. And you are now. I can see it in your eyes. Ron didn't attack you. He may have threatened you, he probably scared you, there's things about him that only Kim knows that the rest of us can only guess about. But something all his friends know, is that he wouldn't attack someone unless he was defending himself."

"Yeah," Bonnie challenged, an unholy fury rising inside her that was fed in no small part by a tiny voice in a small closed off part on her psych that longed to agree with Tara, longed to hear what she had to say, longed to hear those words again from the blonds mouth '_I still want to be your friend. I know that the world must be ending for you but I can help, I want to help'_. But it was _tiny_ and it was _small_ and _closed off_ and the fury rode over Bonnie Rockwaller like the strongest alcohol she had ever consumed.

"You have no clue what your talking about bitch! Don't you EVER tell me anything about me, my feeling and my doings because they're MINE! MY IDEAS and DEALINGS and MY CONSEQUENCES. And you don't know SHIT about how I feel if you think I'm lying because everything was done—" and Bonnie posed at the brink of the abyss, "was all MY IDEA and done at MY DIRECTION. Carla didn't do shit except follow my orders."

Tara was shaking her head vehemently. "Your lying Bonnie. I KNOW IT. I can SEE it in your EYES! You would never have Ron SHOT!

"OH NO?" Bonnie ranted, now coming up out of the bed, straining against the restraints, the tiny portion of hope crying and screaming inside her even as Bonnie was trying so hard to murder it, "If that's what you think, then look right into my eyes and listen to this Tara. Did anyone ever figure out what happened to Stoppable's precious little Naked Mole Rat? NO! No one did! That's because Sherrie Winer of my posse, her sister is the receptionist at the vet where Stoppable took the beast so it was easy for her to get in and kidnap the little animal."

"BONNIE?" screamed Tara, going as white as a sheet as her hands came up to her face in horror—

"That's right bitch," Bonnie now grated, seeing Tara realize that she _was_ telling the truth and that the blond was starting to go into shock knowing what must be coming. Bonnie herself, feeling sick and horror stricken, getting no pleasure from what she was doing, determined to chase away this former friend who was offering her help and friendship despite _everything_ as just another form of self destructive torture and punishment of which she so richly deserved.

"Where is he Bonnie?" came Felix's voice cutting through as Tara was shocked speechless.

Bonnie took several deep breaths, fighting her nausea as the door slammed open and the floor nurses came in responding to the shouts and screams. Bonnie fell limply back into the bed and after a moment, said in a voice devoid of emotion, "Sherrie kept the little monster in a cage in a space under her garage floor. That is . . . . until Stoppable did that thing with the cheer routines. Then—I forced Sherrie . . . . to put it into a bag, tie the bag up and throw it into her trash compactor."

It took several minutes for the nurses to restore order. Tara was led crying from the room. But even as she actually walked out the door, she stopped and turned, "Bonnie, it will take time. But I will forgive you for this. I still want to be your friend. I still want to help you. You have to fight this. You have too much to live for."

But Bonnie wasn't paying any attention, lying listlessly in the bed again, head turned so she could stare at the far wall. She didn't pay any attention to the protracted sharp conversation at the door. It was only when she heard the door close that she moved her head, surprise actually registering on her numb brain when she saw that Felix was still in the room.

She just turned her head back to stare at the wall.

So Felix rolled around till he was in her field of vision.

"What do you want?" came her voice with no emotion.

Felix now picked a spot on the wall behind her to place his eyes and using a voice almost as dead, he said, "several things. The first of which is to understand why such a sweet, loving, cheerful and full of life girl like Tara is so insistent in trying to help you."

Bonnie closed her eyes and sighed, "she's a freak."

"That," now Felix's voice came with a hard 'snap', "she is not. I am a freak. Tara is not one. And under most circumstances, you would not be one either."

Bonnie's eyes came back open with an angry flash to them. "Shut up about me Renton. We've never had any dealings with each other and I don't have to put up with your—"

"Which MS. Rockwaller," Felix again snapped at her, getting her to shut up, "is an excellent reason why I might be able to make a few comments. In many ways at Middleton, I am an outsider looking in. Middle of the year transfer student in Junior year with several, ah, infirmities that place him outside of the normal social groups, cliques and food chains of your typical high school."

"You have nothing to say to me."

"I have plenty to say to you. The question should be, should you want to listen?"

"Why," Bonnie felt the ire rising inside despite herself, "would I want to listen to anything a 'freak' by your own words would want to say?"

Felix shrugged. "Having been restricted to basically no mobility for the last several years, I have developed the habit, which is not unusual by the way, of becoming a very good listener. And that habit applies to all sorts of circumstances, be it when someone is actually talking to me, or if I'm just sitting in a hall somewhere waiting for someone."

Bonnie felt a sudden stab of . . . . . . something as her eyes came over to lock onto him. Could Renton have overheard something in the halls? Something—but what?

"And I hear all sorts of things," Felix continued. "It's like in the last day or so, I've heard from Tara all about the relationship she use to have with you, about how much she still cares and is scared for you and about how driven she can be when she feels that a friend is threatened or in need of help. I mean, Josh, her own boyfriend wouldn't even listen to her when it came to you so Tara called every friend she had to try and get help until she got me. And I was sucker enough to go for it. And because of that, we went to that mill and here we are today—

"SHUT UP!" Bonnie snarled.

Felix waited then in silence until he saw Bonnie's shoulders relax before he said quietly, "Tara doesn't believe that you could have had Ron shot. And frankly, as an outsider who has been watching you and the other movers and shakers of Middleton for the last nine months, I don't believe it either."

"And what do you know big shot?" Bonnie growled at him as she flipped herself over onto her other side as a sign of rejection toward him. "You don't know me. You have no idea what I do or what I'm like."

"I think," Felix now said, his voice sounding very thoughtful and . . . . . careful, "that I might know you better than you might know."

"You don't know shit," was Bonnie's weary reply.

"You miss your father?"

There was a long period of silence. Then the head in the bed lifted and a pair of haunted eyes looked back over a shoulder. "What did you say?"

"Do you miss your father?"

The eyes watched Felix for several moments, then the head turned away and settled back down as a dull voice said, "my father is dead."

Felix snorted. "Again you're not telling the truth. But to you I understand that it could be the same as the truth. Your father is to you as good as dead. My father is just DEAD as my legs are DEAD and the same accident took both. As it took my younger sister, DEAD."

The eyes appeared again, for a longer period this time, staring at Felix with a look that was unreadable but boarded on . . . . . incredulous—and haunted. Finally the voice said, very quietly, "I'm sorry."

Felix shrugged. "Fate works in strange ways. My dad is dead, yours is as good as dead. And I understand that there are several things that our mothers just might have in common. My mom—" and he shook his head sadly, "Spends _all_ her time at work developing things like this little toy" and he patted his chair, "because the big van that hit our car had the manual handicapped hand controls and the driver lost it on the icy highway. I was in the back seat. That was the only thing that saved my life." Felix stared at the hand controls on his chair for another moment before saying softly, "she's determined to make handicapped controls that will respond just as if the person wasn't handicapped at all. She lives and breathes that dream." He then looked up at the ceiling, a tear, unseen by the figure in the bed, but audible in the boys voice, coursed down his cheek. "It's all she lives for. Ten, twelve-hour days at the lab, six, seven days a week sometimes. Not that she neglects me; she's always there for any school function or teachers meeting. If I want her to meet a friend or make dinner for his or her family and have them over, she does it with a smile on her face. But left to her own life—

"You know Bonnie, I've heard that one of the complaints that you have about your mom is the way she still dresses in the seventies; if I didn't have friends over, I think my mom's lab clothes would become permanently grafted to her skin." Felix looked over and saw that the figure in the bed had rolled back toward him. Bonnie was not looking at him, she was looking at the floor to his right, but she was plainly listening. "And you know, even when I have friends and their parents over, she dresses like it was still the week after the funeral. Dark, dowdy dresses. And it's a shame. I've seen my mom when she comes in from her run in the morning. She's still got the body of a young woman. But she hasn't so much as gone out for drinks with girlfriends let alone dinner with another man."

"Why don't they get a clue," Felix heard the soft voice in front of him say, "don't they have any idea what it is that their doing to us when they act that way? Don't they have any idea what it is that they're doing to themselves? Oh they _think_ they do but—"

"I've tried," Felix said with equal softness, "talking to my mom. She just says that even after all these years, that she's not ready to move on from my dad. I try to get her to explain the 'till death do us part' thing and what that means to _her_ to me but she just starts to cry. And as far as her work, I think its just an escape to keep from having to confront the loss of dad, Becky and . . . . . the hurt I always see in the far back corners of her eyes when she looks at me."

Bonnie just snorted even as one hand came up to wipe at sudden tears that had appeared in the corners of her eyes. "Ha, I wish mine was that simple. My mom never recovered from what my real father did to her. That's why she's locked in the seventies. Her early teens were a safe time for her I guess and her mind has gone there. That manipulating bastard completely destroyed her self-esteem and every single dream and hope that she ever had. And he taught his two oldest daughters how to play the game for their fun and benefit. He totally ignored me thank god. To this day I don't know why. But then he ignored me in every way. Not that I minded."

Bonnie brought her head up to meet Felix's and bottomless wells of pain were there. "My mom means well, but she doesn't have a clue how to deal with the real world. To her life was what she saw when she was trying to escape the destruction of her first marriage; reruns of family sitcoms, over and over again. And when her second marriage started to go south because of the two superbitches, it was 'Dr Paul", the 'Jerry Show', and 'Citizens Court' where she found her refuge and her education in what was 'real', 'right' and 'true'. Real reality has little meaning to her and it's reinforced by her circle of friends, members of the 'garden' club and 'bridge' club, women in their sixties and seventies who are loosing their grip on reality but _need_ and encourage her presence because she is still young and healthy and able to do all the things for them that they can't do for themselves. Hell, the only time my mom talks to anyone her age is when she's mad, had a few drinks and wants to cuss. _Then_ she calls the mom's of some of my friends and lets go both barrels. _That_ gets ugly and really embarrassing."

Felix shook his head sadly. "I can't remember my mom getting mad about anything. She chokes everything up inside. My dad's and Becky's birthdays and of course the day of the accident are really bad. But at least she doesn't try to pretend that they don't exist."

"I know the feeling," Bonnie said sadly. "And I do pretend that it doesn't exist."

Felix tried to keep his eyes from going wide in surprise and for the most part succeeded. His brain fumbled about for a response and blurted the first thing that came to mind, praying that it was the right thing to say. "So, from what I've seen, being that you have nothing at home, you try to make yourself something at school. And if something gets in your way, the anger and frustration that you carry over from home, helps you blast through the obstacles at school."

Bonnie's eyes narrowed sharply, giving him a dangerous, questioning look.

"Being," Felix said levelly, "the only surviving member of an auto accident that wiped out half a tight knit family and totally took away the use of the entire lower half of your body for the rest of your life delivers you into the hands of extensive and exhaustive counseling and therapy. I'd like to think I learned a thing or two at the same time."

The brunettes eyes tightened further into an angry glare, "I don't need or want your help you son-of-a—"

"I'm not here to help you," Felix said calmly although a trickle of sweat was running down his cheek. "I'm here to help my friend Tara, nothing more. And if she wants me to do that by talking to you, by trying to show you that there just might be others who just might have something in common with you—"

"Big friggin deal. We're both pissed at our mom's and we have no dads. End of story. Now get out of here."

Felix shrugged. "Suit yourself. But first humor me. Answer my question."

Bonnie flipped back over onto her other side snarling, "ha, fat chance hot shot! How many times did I hear a line like that come out of the mouths of the shrinks at the rehab center I got sent to after the prom. This is over Renton."

Felix considered a moment, then said, "but that at least means that you paid attention to what those 'shrinks' had to say to you."

Bonnie actually gave out a humorless laugh at that. "Yeah right! I listened to them only to the point that I could learn the right responses to accelerate my getting out of that hellhole."

"Be that as it may," Felix said to her back quietly, "there are other things they said to you that I'm sure if you thought about them right now, would be a great benefit to you. They might actually help you see a little bit of light were there is all black right now. Help you deal with the pain and the fear."

Bonnie whipped back around and spat at him, "where do **_YOU_** get off saying anything about the pain and fear!"

An angry glint came to Felix's normally steady, unshakable eyes. He waved a hand at his own lap and literally growled, "I am well aware of the pain and I could give you three names ending in Renton to support my stance."

Bonnie actually felt her face flush in embarrassment. She dropped her head in shame and said as sincerely as she could, "I—I—I'm—I'm sorry. Your right. You do know the pain." But then she rallied, pulling her head up to say, "but what do you know of any of the kind of fear that I might have? How could you have any concept—"

"Fear," Felix, a palm coming up to stop her, his words again soft, "fear of loneliness, of never being loved, of never being accepted or of having a friend again. Fear that retaliation from someone at school or from the gang might claim you or maybe while being aimed at you, might claim another, maybe even your mother whom I can tell, while you may not think much of her, you still care for—"

"SHUT UP RENTON!"

Felix raised an eyebrow in indication that he had nailed that one on the head. Bonnie just glowered at him, finally tossing her head away in rejection of his argument even as she said, "it still doesn't mean that you have a clue what it feels like or how to deal with it."

Felix leaned back into his chair; throwing his arms back behind him in a stretch even as he said, "well, not quite. That would be one wrong answer and one right answer there."

Bonnie's head snapped back around with a questioning look and a, "and just what is that suppose to mean?"

Felix gave a sad smile. "What it means is that right now, I have something which is giving me a pretty good clue as to what its like to be in constant fear and at the same time, I don't have a clue about what to do about it."

"And what," Bonnie said, trying her best to sound sarcastic, "is scaring you wonder boy. D Hall bullies trying to steal your chrome rims?"

Felix's head swiveled down so he could give her an almost pitying look. "No, someone is in love with me."

Bonnie's jaw dropped, eyes popped and brain—she wasn't sure what it did because it took forever to engage before she could stutter, "b—b—b—bu—but, you and Monique? What's the big deal Renton. Everybody knows you're a pair. What's there to sweat unless," and suddenly Bonnie's eyes went even wider than before and she said under her breath, "you didn't get her pregnant did you?"

And she recoiled at the sudden angry/hateful/hurtful look in Felix's eyes. He swiveled his chair and started for the door even as she tried to reach out (damn the restraints), "NO! Stop! Please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

The chair whirled about to face her and Felix, barely managing to control his voice, 'and just _what DID_ you mean?"

"I—I—I," was all Bonnie could manage.

Felix spread his hands out before his lower body as if presenting is for display. His voice was sharp, pointed, his tone angry, but it was not at Bonnie, it was at something entirely different.

"Behold Felix Renton. Be aware that in regards to Mr. Renton that _nothing_ works below the level of his navel. _Nothing!_ That means that he has a colostomy bag and urinary bag with all associated attachments permanently attached. He feel nothing below the upper levels of his waist so the lower parts of his body are constantly bruised and bloody as he has injured them without even knowing it. Now he's in love. And he has a beautiful young sexy girl who loves him and they cuddle and they kiss and guess what—" and Felix's arms went way out to the sides in hopeless exasperation, "while something deep inside him tells him that there should be SOMETHING else that he SHOULD BE feeling SOMEWHERE, there is in fact NOTHING TO FEEL because there is NOTHING THERE!"

Bonnie actually physically recoiled when the understanding of what Felix was telling her hit her. She could understand . . . . but she couldn't fathom— How could anyone spend their life—

"And what happens Bonnie," said Felix, now spearing her with his angry/hurt eyes, "when that beautiful, sexy young girl decides that maybe she's ready to take that big step only to find out that the young man she's been spending all that time with is a FREAK with NO PLUMBING! And you wonder why I'm scared? Every day I'm with her, as wonderful as she makes me feel, I'm scared that the subject is going to come up or that she'll start taking about long term plans or commitments and I'll be forced to, in all fairness to her, bring the subject up myself. I spend cold, black nights staring at my ceiling with endless repetitions of that moment ripping though my head!"

Felix, in his anger and frustration, sent his chair around in a twirling spin before facing Bonnie again and snapping, "PREGNANT! I wish! There isn't even anything there to base artificial insemination on, IF any girl had the guts to stay with me to that point. Because God help me, if Monique should decide tomorrow that we're over, I have this to look forward to and go through all over again with any and every girl and woman I ever encounter and get involved with."

Bonnie was truly struck silent. Numb, despite all her own problems and issues, at the horror and enormity of what was before her. She could never possibly imagine not being able to have— "I'm sorry Felix, I am so sorry," she mumbled to him over and over again.

Felix mumbled something as he crossed his arms and looked away from her.

After a few minutes, Felix took a deep breath and said in a calmer tone, "well, anyway, we were talking about you—"

'I don't think we should talk anymore," Bonnie whispered. "I think we're hurting more than we're helping."

He gave her a sober but steady look as he replied, "as long as we're talking and your listening, this is helping in some way Bonnie."

Bonnie found it in her somewhere to give a sarcastic snort. "Oh yeah? I thought that you were doing this for Ms Platinum Blond?"

Felix nodded. "Yes, for her, and for a certain extent for myself. If I can do some good despite my handi—

"And I don't count for shit, is that it?" Bonnie blazed out at him with sudden heat. "Here I am, the one responsible for the almost murder of your best friend, the sworn enemy of the worlds precious Kim Possible and the screaming, drunken lunatic behind the bloody crushing of Stoppable's stupid mole rat? I count for nothing to you in this? You'd like to see me finish slitting my wrists wouldn't you? Well, if you'll get me a knife, I'll accommodate you."

Felix just sat for several minutes looking at her, his face again steady and composed. The time passed without his saying a word.

Bonnie, with another snort, again rolled over, giving him her back, determined now to totally ignore him.

"There's quite an argument over you you know," Felix said in a very quiet tone.

"Get out of here," Bonnie muttered, "I'm all done talking and listening."

Felix gave a grudging shrug. "Well, then I'll just have this little say and then get out. I'm really not comfortable talking about it all things considered. Having to listen to them talk about it always kind of ticked me anyway due to my own problems—"

"If you have to say something," Bonnie growled, "then say it and get out."

"Suit yourself. But Monique and Tara have been arguing over why your so . . . . promiscuous."

Bonnie felt things . . . . . tear inside her psych. Anger, yes! Almost rage that such was being discussed and being brought up now. Disbelief that such a subject could raise its ugly head at a time like this, when she was mentally stripped, naked and almost helpless, only the ice cold blackness at her center providing her with something to hang onto. And that, after what she had just heard, that a quiet, unassuming _freak_ like Renton could possibly be bringing this up.

But the most unbelievable thing was—

Despite herself, despite it all, Bonnie felt her face flush, not believing that she could be so uncomfortable, so embarrassed. That this boy could possibly be able to strike her so closely to areas she thought no one could reach.

She was suddenly very thankful that her back was to him as things actually seemed to spin before her eyes.

"Monique believes," Felix continued in the same tight tone, "that to you, those actions and behaviors are merely a power thing. You get to exercise control over the girls as being the 'head of the heard' as far as your posse is concerned and it exerts a certain influence over many of the other girls in the school, and of course, using your body like that would give you almost total control over most boys our age. But Tara thinks that's wrong," and Felix's voice was suddenly softer, gentler.

Bonnie threw her head down into the mattress as she felt the tears start to run from her eyes as the blush took over her whole head. This could _not_ be happening to her. The stuff of her dark black nights crying into her pillow. The truths of her cold, hollow being as she stared into the empty bottoms of bottles of alcohol. How could Tara guess? How did Felix _KNOW?_ And she knew, Bonnie somehow _knew,_ that _he_ knew!

"Tara," said Felix with soft, knowing words, "thinks that your really searching for the love and affection that you can't find anywhere else. That your hoping beyond hope, that one of those boys wont see you as the slut that all the rest do, that he'll take pity in you, maybe even start to like you. In the meantime, you at least, in their arms, get the illusion of being loved and wanted so—"

"Shut up! SHUT UP!" Bonnie suddenly screamed at him only to have the scream trail away into a long wailing cry. The brunette teen pulled the pillow up over her head and curled up into a sobbing ball of misery.

She didn't know how long she cried. When she looked up, Felix was sitting directly where she could see him. Her mind, aching and numb, could not understand just why he was still—

"It will be hard," Felix said grimly, "but I too can forgive you for Rufus. You didn't know him like the rest of us did so you cannot understand the enormity of what your actions did. If you had realized it, you wouldn't have done it. Just like, I too believe, that you would not intentionally order for Ron to be killed. Tara and I both believe that what happened there was either an accident or the idea of the gang members, not you. Tara says she knows you so well, she just wont believe that you could change that much, no matter what happened in your life. Me? I do not sense you having the capacity, whatever you yourself may think, to knowingly commit murder, of either Rufus or Ron. And as far as Kim—"

Bonnie dropped her head back into the mattress muttering, "forget it. I know she's indestructible."

When she didn't hear a reply, she looked up to see Felix silently rolling away, his face gray and grim. A sudden, deep fear rose in her and she came half up, straining to say through her tears, "Felix? Kim? She's—"

Felix stopped next to the door and looked back at her over his shoulder. He then said with a dead, angry voice, "you aren't her enemy Bonnie, just her rival. But she has other rivals and true, real enemies I guess. And when they all gang up at once, even someone who's seemingly indestructible, can break." He then rolled out.

Bonnie lowered herself back down into her bed, her arms going around her body, as she was suddenly feeling very cold.

"Kim?" she whispered to the quiet.

A nurses hand groped in the edge of the door and hit the light switch, leaving her in darkness—

With her thoughts—

And feeling cold.

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She lay in the dark and there was a cold lump of certainty chilling her dark soul.

Shego knew that she could not let it continue.

She didn't know what it was that he was doing, but her little inside voice said that it wasn't just something having to do with his old gig of 'taking over the world'. And her gut instincts were telling her that whatever it was, it was bad news.

But she was a bad guy! Should she bring in the other bad guys to try and bring the Doctor down?

She didn't know, but as she stared up into the black darkness above her bed, she knew that something had to be done and only she could make it happen.

She had that errand. Drakken wanted her to visit his mother on his mom's birthday in a couple of days. That would give her the excuse to get out of the lair for a while. She would use the time to make some contacts, ask some questions, and try to get a handle on just how she should deal with this.

Until that time, Shego knew that she would stare into the darkness, feeling the fear inside her, the coldness that was quickly enveloping her—

Where was Kim Possible and the buffoon when you really needed them?

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The man in the dark suit sat in the room. It was pitch black, its dimensions unknown, possibly small, possibly limitless. The only light was coming from the dim, toned down screens and the lighted dials and switches on his desk and the consoles around him. He had a phone receiver at his ear. "Yes sir," was all he said prior to replacing it on its cradle.

He carefully folded his hands on the table and took a deep breath, allowing his eyes to loose themselves in the darkness across the room as he always did when these moments came. He was glad that he didn't carry the ultimate responsibility, but it was his job to see that the task was carried out once the 'go' orders were given.

And they had been. For apparently, the mole that was deeply inside the other side had said that the time was best to strike.

The man glanced at the open folder, at the photos of the male and the female with the long hair—

It was now his responsibility, from this black hole deep underground, to carry out his superior's wishes. Be they whatever they might be.

He reached back for the phone—

His look grim as cold determination filled him.

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A/N

Congrats to conan98002 for guessing Kim's whereabouts (here I thought I was being sneaky). Thanks for the other continuing reviews. I am trying to get to where I'm reading other's stories again, but what little free time I have is so taken with cranking this big beast out (with your requests for more which are greatly appreciated) that the time I have to read is very limited. I am trying thou and I want you all to know that I will get to your stories and will enjoy them I'm sure as I hope your enjoying mine.


	14. The 'Princess' hits Bottom

It was almost completely dark in the room with only a hint of dim light creeping in through the folds of the drawn curtains. The quiet was as complete except for the occasional muffled word in the hall or footsteps as they passed directly in front of the closed door.

There was one other occasional sound. It might be soft crying or whimpering coming from the daybed set up against the wall under the window. But it was very sporadic and always short lived—

And it tore a hole in Ron's soul every time he heard it.

But now, as the early morning hour approached, he tried to put out this and everything else out of his mind as he sat up in the bed, painfully adjusted his abused body, attempted to adjust his abused mind, and worked to open his senses to the task at hand.

But his will overcame the obstacles. Time became immaterial, unimportant. What took place might have taken then rest of the morning darkness or taken only moments in real time.

It didn't matter. What was important was that it did take place.

When at last he opened his eyes, it was to gaze up the floating figure of his Sensei, hovering just beyond the end of his bed in the classic position, a model of serenity, strength, patience, wisdom and determination that Ron needed so very badly right now.

_Sensei-Master _Ron greeted him, head alone bowing at his shoulders.

_Greetings Ron Stoppable _the ancient master intoned gravely. _It is good that we are able to meet like this _

Ron brought his head back up, his eyes full of questions. _Kenichi and Masamune made themselves known to me last night and told me to prepare. I welcome this chance to speak to you Master for I desperately seek your advice and help _

The nod of the figures head equally grave. _That is understandable Ron Stoppable. But I must make you aware that I am here only to offer advice and a bit of training. As to your Guardians, they are just that. They will watch over you until you are healed and able to defend yourself again. Neither they or I may act or interfere in this trial that you are undergoing _

Ron's face tightened and there might have been just the slightest quivering of his lower lip as his eyes flashed for just an instant at the silent figure in the day bed.

That action was not lost on the Sensei however. _Yes Ron Stoppable, Kim Possible is also undergoing a trial. One that at this time is greater than yours, for yours is as of this moment, is only a splinter cast from the rock that is her, as she is put under the great hammer of one of life's ultimate trials _

Ron swallowed heavily. _And what trial is that Master? _

The Sensei would only give him a wisp of a smile. _That I also cannot tell you, for as I just said, you have also started that trial. You did so some time ago. But yours is a longer, slower road along a different path. The goal however is, and remains, the same _

Ron's head fell back down. _Is there nothing I can do to help her? _

The Sensei didn't say anything until Ron's head came back up and the old man's eyes entered in through Ron's own to reach deep down inside him; to commit to him the truth of these words.

_You can love her despite everything that is going to happen, never forsaking her even if she seems to forsake all else. At the same time, you _must_ stand your ground in your beliefs and your principles despite all that may batter at them. And most importantly, you _must_ believe that there _will be_ a tomorrow. That there will _always_ be a tomorrow and that all nights, even the blackest, are eventually banished by the dawn, which always brings with it the new life and new hope for which man has always hungered _

Ron nodded in understanding but there was a frightened tinge to his eyes. _You have foreseen this Master? _

After a moment, the Sensei's eyes closed tiredly and he gave a small shrug. _Only to a point. And it is the point where choice . . . . personal choice, enters the picture that it become blurry and unreadable. It is always the way with the future. Too many possibilities when one has to chose. To chose if they-- _

Ron's face turned even grimmer as he read the tone. _You mean if they who are making the choice, if they live or die because of the choice. That is what you mean isn't it Master _

Gentle hands opened palm up to him. _Nothing is for certain Ron Stoppable. But it has always been your belief that you will live forever. That is a good belief to have. Stick by that belief. Live by it. It will carry you far. And if you believe it and live it _and the Sensei's head turned to gaze on the sleeping figure in the day bed, _maybe it will rub off on some one who desperately needs to know that right now _

Ron looked also and felt himself choke up at the very thought of the hollow shell in that bed who was the girl he loved more than life itself. He felt his resolve stiffen. If Sensei said that _that_ was what he had to do, what more could be said.

_Thank you Master, you have been a great help _

Very good Ron Stoppable. Now, I am going to attempt to teach you a technique, which will help the repair of some of your damaged muscle tissues. This will only accomplish gross repair, the closure of the gaping, open wounds or the initial re-knitting of torn muscle such as your own. It will not help restore strength and the damage can be redone if you are too vigorous too soon afterwards. So now . . . if you would--

Ron ducked his head low as he interrupted. _Your pardon I crave Master before we begin. There is one more thing . . . I wish to ask _

Sensei, who had half risen up to a full sitting position now came back down onto himself, his face falling as well. But, without further deviation or comment as the impending question was all too obvious— _Yori wanted to be among your Guardians. I did not feel that this would be . . . wise as, except for letting you know of my coming, they were and are, to have no contact while they were here. That would be . . . . . an unfair burden on Yori as would her presence I think, be one on you at this time. She . . . . . understood . . . and . . did not . . understand, but accepted my wisdom _

Ron watched at his Master for a moment, a sad, thoughtful look on his face. He then bowed his head once again, _teach me Master Sensei. I will attempt to learn your wisdom _

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When was it going to happen?

It was going to happen, she just knew it.

She could feel it coming . . . . . . it was only a matter of time.

They were going to be after her—

And they would get her.

And the interesting thing was that the tiny, short haired girl actually might look at times like a frightened bunny as she scampered from hall to hall, doorway to doorway, cover to cover in the warren and jungle that was Middleton high.

It had been weeks that she was afraid that someone would find out what she had done. And then what had happened after that. And even worse, after that! But now, within the last week and a half, since everything had started to come apart, she was sure that at any moment, her reckoning would be at hand—

And she was right.

As the mousy brunette came around the corner, head spinning like a top trying to take in all directions at once—

She found herself suddenly surrounded by a hoard of Middleton Mad Dog Cheerleaders dressed in their street clothes, their faces hard edged and accusing. As the little brunette, now prey caught in the web, spun around seeking an escape, she came face to face with a set of angry, piecing fury of coal black eyes that had miraculously appeared inches from hers. She recoiled; knowing she was doomed, for the word around Middleton High was that other than the gang members (who were really considered outsiders anyway), that _this_ was the one black girl in school that you did _not_ want to piss off.

And this was one _totally cranked_ black girl as her face followed in the retreating one of the little brunette so closely that the low menacing growl could be plainly head by the quivering girl, "Okay Sherrie, it's time to pay some dues. Starting with the straight story about a certain mole rat and what happened to him."

Monique's own eyes went wide as Sherrie Winer's eyes suddenly rolled into the back of her head and down she went like the proverbial ton of bricks. Monique and Hope barely had time to catch the collapsing girl and the assembled cheerleaders barely had time to look at each other in shock and wonder before—

"Alright people! Just what _is_ going on here?"

Monique felt her insides freeze and clamped her mouth shut _tight!_

"Ah, nothing Mr. Barkin," Tara piped up bravely, "this girl just got a little woozy. We're going to take her into the restroom and see if we can make her feel better." And in response, Monique and Hope immediately started to hustle the girl up—

"Now just one moment," came that deadly, smooth voice and everybody froze.

Barkin came in close, sticking his head in between Hope and Monique so that he could actually see who it was they were holding. His eyes immediately narrowed as his face turned to stone.

"I would recommend," he said in his hardest voice, "that you _gently_ put her down while I summon assistance to get her to my office."

"But Mr. Barkin—" started Tara.

"Let me say this only once," he hissed to them all, his lowered eyes clearly angry, "that finding a member of Rockwaller's former posse being assaulted and manhandled by a bunch of friends, a group that could conceivably be called Possible's posse, is something I find to be extremely disturbing. If I hear of any more of this behavior, on or off campus, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear."

Monique had stepped back from Winer whom she had now put down, anger and defiance in her eyes, "you can't tell us what to do off campus Mr. Barkin."

With a glare that drove a shaft of ice through her, Barkin looked right through Monique and said, "Do you really want to test my ties with the off campus authorities at a time like this, I don't think so. Your too upset over everything that's going on, don't push it."

Monique was tempted to tell Barkin just what it was that they knew, but they didn't want to take the chance of word or a rumor of getting back to Ron while he was still in the hospital. So it was all she could do to turn around with an angry glare at the prostrate form on the floor and walk away, all the other girls of Kim's 'posse' following her.

And it was later that Monique, still angry and out of sorts, walked though the halls on her way to the next class. She was in desperate need of something to take her frustrations out on. She had way too much of it built up and she had actually hoped that Winer had given her an excuse to do something to burn it off.

She'd like to call Felix and yell at him but she could even do that right now. She was really tweaked at him over his support of Tara towards Bonnie (she was only dealing with Tara because the blond was the acting head of the Cheerleaders, Monique was just as tweaked at her) and the fact that he had actually gone to the hospital several times over the weekend to try to talk to Bonnie made Monique almost ready to totally break it off with him over just the principal of it (she kept telling herself that).

So she was angry, hurt that her boyfriend didn't see things her way, lonely that it was driving them apart, scared for her friends and their world that _still_ seemed to be falling apart. It was unnatural for her. HER! She who was normally so much in control of everything. And that scared her as well.

So she stomped her way along. Maybe during lunch she would go find something in the gym to beat up to take her frustrations out on. And she came around the corner and right into the figurative wall that was the sight that was coming out of Steve Barkin's office.

There was a red-eyed, miserable looking Sherrie Winer with an adult who had to be her mother was just coming out of the door. So immersed in each other they were that the didn't even see Monique as the mom slowly shepherded the teen slowly down the hall.

But, after the stories that Tara and Brick had told, it was the man in the black suit accompanying them that really got Monique's attention.

But that was only a passing moment as another figure came out of Barkin's door, accompanied by Barkin himself and Monique literally sucked in a breath.

She was both beautiful and exotic, which Monique with her fashion savvy knew, wasn't easy where you were wearing just a plain black pants suit. Black hair put up in a professional style bun. Every inch she looked class.

But her face . . . . yes, beautiful and exotic. But there was something else there, and the mental image that immediately came to Monique was that of a jungle cat about to make the kill. Lioness like features even with the pleasant smile that she was giving Barkin, and her eyes—

The Lioness scanned the hall as she came out and the last of the passing of loitering teens those eyes came to was Monique who had unconsciously moved to huddle up against the wall. Those eyes came across her—

Monique felt that she had been pinned to the wall by a massive sword. They didn't scan over her; they locked onto her and pierced her through. Monique felt in an instant that this woman knew who she was and knew everything about her and a shiver ran right down to her heels.

But gladly it only lasted a moment. The eyes broke from hers and the woman looked back to Barkin (who was gazing uneasily at Monique himself) and said some soft words. The two of them nodded to each other, then shook hands. The woman then started off—

But she didn't follow Winer or the other man in black away down the hall, she headed toward Monique!

Monique felt her heart leap into her throat and pulled herself tighter up against the wall of lockers. But the woman didn't look at her, it seemed that she was going to walk by her. Maybe—

The woman stopped _right next_ to the suddenly very frightened, frozen black girl. And Monique literally wanted to scream—

But the eyes, the head didn't turn to look at her. But a soft, very ladylike voice with incredible carrying power floated over to the frightened girls ears—

"When your time comes, just go along with the flow. Don't fight, don't run. Things will all work out in the end."

And with that the woman . . . . . . just walked away.

Monique, shaken and shaking, slowly came away from the wall, watching the woman disappear down the hall. She was only marginally aware that Barkin was now standing beside her and that he was speaking to her.

"W—what?" Monique was forced to say to the Administrator.

If it was possible, Barkin's voice, although holding its usual authority and serious tenor, held an unmistakable and amazingly, almost pleading, warning undertone to it. "I can't tell you anything other than do not pursue Winer or the thing you wanted to know from her any further. It is outside of your hands. And stirring up trouble about it will only cause more trouble, trouble of a sort that several of our mutual friends don't need right now. I can tell you that Winer has been dealt with, in more ways than you can know. She has been in fear of this day for weeks. I've sent her home and I don't know when she will be back. And you and the rest of Possible's and Stoppable's friends, leave the rest of Rockwaller's remaining posse alone as well. There are things . . . . . . going on that I cannot discuss. But trust that everything will work out in the end."

And with that, Barkin slid by her, leaving Monique trying very hard to keep her jaw from getting entangled in her feet.

_Both of them had said 'will work out in the end'. What end,"_ Monique wondered to herself. _And what is 'my time'? This is getting really scary! I need Felix. No matter how tweaked I am, I need him real bad right now_

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"Well," Ron said into the phone, "it sounds a lot worse that it actually was from a medical standpoint. One bullet went in the back of my left arm just below the shoulder, traveled down its length, past the elbow and went out the front halfway toward the wrist. Missed all the bone, nerves, and vessels, only touched and damaged muscle. The second hit me in the left corner/side part of my mid back. Now that was lucky as it ran into a rib, which turned it and it rode along the rib like it was on a rail until it ran out of steam under my skin almost all the way around onto my stomach. It was the last one which was the problem. It started out okay I guess, it hit me in the right butt cheek but it turned and went up and in and stopped just millimeters short of my lower spine. They had to carefully go in and take that one out. Between possible trauma to the nerves in that area and the head injuries from the clumps of concrete, I had to stay in ICU for the first couple of days . . . . . . . No, I'm in a regular private room now . . . . No, I should be getting out anytime. They've been worried about compilations from the concussions to the head but the reality was that both of them were glancing blows that only pealed back big flaps of skin, no real damage to my skull, not that the Ronster doesn't have an extra hard head anyway . . . . . . . . . Well, I appreciate the candy and the card . . . . Your granddaughter—?" and Ron glanced uncomfortably toward the thin, careworn figure that sat listlessly staring out the window into the darkness and streetlights outside. "She—she fine. What? Just a sec."

Ron cupped a hand over the phone and asked softly, "do you want to say hi to your Nana?"

A barely perceptible shake of a red head gave him an answer.

Ron looked uncomfortable and he brought the phone back up, "ah, she—ah—" he closed his eyes and listened for a moment before nodding with a heartfelt, "thank you. And thank you so much for calling."

Ron silently hung up the phone and lay back down into the bed. He tried to take comfort in Sensei's words but it was hard. Kim didn't talk, barely ate. Resisted even being held by him. And despite his best efforts, he could not get her to tell him _why_. He knew that her parents were seriously considering having a professional brought in. But Ron knew, that if she wouldn't talk to _him_, then she wasn't about to talk to any stranger.

Ron's head turned as Kim stood up.

"I'm hungry," she mumbled. "Gonna go to the cafeteria."

Ron shifted towards his nightstand even as he said, "Felix snuck in these Naco's yesterday—"

"I," spat the suddenly harsh voice, "do not want day old, congealed, soggy, Mexican food." Kim stopped and seemed to have to physically collect herself before saying in a calmer, quieter voice. "All I want is a salad or something."

"Yeah sure KP," Ron said, trying not to let his jaw hang down into his lap or the hurt to show in his eyes. "Anything your want. Sure." And those sad and sorrowful eyes of his followed her out of the door, dread filling his heart.

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"K—Kim P—P—Possible?"

It was only because the voice was totally unfamiliar to her that Kim looked in its direction. What she saw was a small, mousy haired girl who looked frightened to death coming off of a hallway chair. There was something about her that was vaguely familiar but Kim could not place her, not did she care too.

With a wave of her hand, Kim started to walk on past, saying sharply, "Don't bother me please—"

The girl brought her hands up in a pleading motion. "But I have to tell you or Ron Stoppable something. One of you has to know the truth."

"There is no truth," Kim growled bitterly. "Lie's become truth and no one believes the true truths."

"Please!" the girl cried in a voice that sounded truly desperate. "I walked all the way here from home. My parents have probably missed me and are probably crazy about where I am. The hospital wouldn't let me in to see Stoppable, something about security. I didn't want to give a message because I didn't want what I have to tell him to be misunderstood."

Kim had come to a stop, seeing that same naked desperation and need that consumed the entire girls being—along with the nagging suspicion that she _knew_ her from somewhere.

"Just who are you?" she demanded.

The girl recoiled at the nasty tone but managed to blurt out, "Sherrie Winer."

This caused no reaction in Kim who, being out of patience, snapped, "look, just what the frig is the big thing you have to say to Stoppable. Get on with it cause I have better things to do than watch you try and imitate a frightened prairie dog."

Sherrie's eyes got big around as her mouth opened and she seemed to be forcing but nothing was coming out.

Kim threw a disgusted hand at the girl as she turned away, "stop wasting my time—"

"Rufus!"

Kim Possible stopped dead in her tracks, frozen as a statue for a long moment. When she moved, it was just her head and shoulders that came around to look at Sherrie, who now stood, crying silently, tears streaming down her face—

Kim didn't want to move, she didn't want to breath! All hope that had sparked at that name had gone down in flames when she saw the look on Winer's face. It matched her current world. This was the next hammer blow, the next nail in her coffin, that she had been waiting silently for for the past days.

And so Kim stood, looking into Sherries face, reading what she wanted, seeing what she wanted to see. For it came back to her. She remembered where she had seen Winer from—

"Bonnie?" came the single harsh word as if a curse from Kim's mouth.

Sherrie nodded, the snapping motion sending tears flying in all directions, "my sister works at the vet. I snuck in and took him out of his cage. I hid him at my house. But Bonnie got so mad at your boyfriend when he did that thing at the PE office—"

Sherrie started wailing and cringing as if expecting Kim, who was ever so slowly turning round about onto her, the bigger girls hands coming up in front of her clenched into fists—

"Bonnie came over drunk," Sherrie stammered, trying to get it out before she was belted. "She was furious with Stoppable. She needed to do something to get back at him. She told me to put the animal in a bag and throw him in the trash compactor."

"RUFUS WAS NOT AN ANIMAL!" Kim screamed into Winer's face, gripping her by the shoulders, shaking her violently, snapping the girl's head painfully back and forth.

And everything went dark in Kim's eyes as all the pent up rage, pain, hurt, frustration, grief, poured into her hands and she proceeded to choke Sherrie Winer—

Then Kim's vision started to clear, there was a massive kink in her neck, she was on the floor, her shoulders, and arms seemed numb, momentarily useless. Something like a ghost flashed past her vision—

She saw Sherrie Winer, now yards away from her, half collapsed on her side, coughing, holding her throat. There were moving figures in the dim distance—

Kim rolled over, got her feet under her—

She had no idea just where she went, how long she did it. The dark, the cold, none of it registered let alone mattered as every single moment of the last nine weeks flowed through her. All that mattered was the rage! She had vague memories of putting her fist through the side window of a parked car, of doing a reverse spin kick to take down a parking meter, which she then used to demolish a covered bus stop. She moved fast, always one step of the police cars responding to the 'crazy woman in the streets' or 'vandalism suspect(s) there now' calls, using every bit of her stealth and training to avoid the helicopters and the cruising patrols.

When things finally cleared, she was standing back outside of the hospital. She could feel the blood dripping from the cuts in her hands and forearms but there was no pain. She had had too much pain to feel something as puny as those. Her hair was wild, her eyes were wild—

Her movements were that of ninja.

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Something . . . she wasn't sure just what it was, made Bonnie Rockwaller's eyes come open. Her room wasn't totally dark. There was normally a night light on next to the bathroom door. But it was dark now. Had the bulb burned out?

But—there was something else. A—presence. She wasn't alone. Bonnie slowly moved her head—

There was a motion in the dimness. It gave Bonnie's eyes something to focus on—

And she, after a moment, recognized that familiar silhouette—

And she felt fear—

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Kim Possible, the girl who could do anything, had never done this before. So in her own mind, she was screaming, pleading, praying, demanding that **_IT_** happen again—

But it wasn't!

The blackness would not come!

Here she was, in front of her rival. No! Blood Enemy! The one who, more than any scandal rag or grief and worry stricken mother, was responsible for the ruination of her life, her self esteem, her control of her world and everything and everybody in it!

For that, along with waiting for the next disaster to happen, is what she had been silently contemplating since being brought here to Ron at the hospital. How she, the Alpha Female, able to control and direct everything from her own boyfriend to the actual fate of the _Entire World_ for how long now, had lost all that. No! Not lost it, _had had it taken away from her!_ She! Kim Possible, The Girl Who Could Do Anything because she was always in complete and total control of everything she touched. Cheerleaders, yearbook, dance committee, historical society, steering committee. And if she wasn't actually the captain or leader of the function, like the swim team, the summer and fall festivals, she was the one that everyone _really_ looked to for direction. She had realized, that even without the Food-Chain boyfriend thing, that she was the top dog in everything else and had been for years. She had gotten so use to it that it had become the natural and normal way for her. She expected it, and considering everything _else_ she had done, she believed that she deserved it! That it was the 'natural and normal order of things'.

For she normally always got whatever she wanted (except for maybe the occasional Hot Club Banana item that she didn't have babysitting money to buy and couldn't convince her so-square-that-his-corners-were-sharp dad to get for her). And if she didn't, she knew how to ask, cajole, beg, plead, vamp, or puppy-dog pout her way until it was in her control.

Now . . . . . she had realized . . . . that as far as fate, chance, destiny, happenstance, that maybe, she was no different than any other girl.

And she couldn't believe that!

Things like the last nine weeks _just didn't happen to **HER!**_

_**THEY WERE DONE TO HER ON PURPOSE FROM SOME OUTSIDE SOURCE!**_

The total and complete ruination of her clean, bright, well-ordered life had been accomplished by an outside source. Not even the news of Rufus's murder had affected her like this realization. For while she had loved him, he was Ron's, not hers. And it was the destruction of _her_ life that Rufus had been martyred for.

And now that source was in front of her. Prostrate, tied down in fact. Helpless.

Kim had been shown ways that could kill without leaving a mark. Blows that would manifest themselves as something vastly different. That would appear as if a weak muscle in the hearts wall had at last given way causing the life-giving pump to stop—

And now, here she was—

And she **_couldn't summon the darkness_**. **_WHERE WAS THE RAGE NOW!_**

What she had felt come over her in the moment that Sherrie Winer has told her that Bonnie was responsible for the kidnap and murder of Rufus had been the most unbelievable surge of emotion that she had every experienced.

But it was darkness. She had always _fought_ the darkness. Now she was trying, begging, pleading, DEMANDING FOR THAT SAME DARKNESS to come and take her so she could—

Murder . . . . her rival, her enemy, the one responsible for the downfall of her perfectly controlled world.

For that is what it would be. It wouldn't even be like Winer was for that had been in the heat of the moment, the fire of passion. This would be premeditated, cold and deliberate, on a helpless, sleeping person in a hospital bed. Carried out on a person who, according to the little that Tara and Felix had been willing to mention to Ron in her presence, was a broken, angry, self-hating shell that had already tried to end her own life once.

Murder was exactly what it would be. The ultimate in darkness.

And as much as she wanted too, as much as a tortured portion of her psych was screaming and crying and begging inside herself to make it happen, to _force_ it too happen, now that the moment had come, she knew in her heart-of-hearts, that she could not do it. The darkness was not in her. Not even when she really wanted or needed it.

And if the total and complete ruination of her life could not bring it forth—nothing ever would.

Silent tears of frustration, grief, helpless rage, flowed from those red-rimmed emerald eyes as she turned in the darkness and went out as ghostly as she had come in.

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It took Bonnie a moment—and several painful, eye-stressing blinks, to realize that Kim was gone. She hunched up and looked wildly around the room. In what little dim light from behind the window curtain, there was no sign—

Unbidden, sobs came to Bonnie as she laid her head back down into her pillow, _why Kim? WHY? You would have done both of us so much good if you had just killed me! Why couldn't you just KILL ME!_

And both the sobs and the silent questions went unanswered in the darkness of the room.

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Ron became aware and sat upright in bed. To his surprise, his food try had been moved next to the bed and there was an open first aid box on it. _Now what_, he started to think when the door to his room came open and a familiar figure flowed in.

"Kim!" he gave out in a half whispered cry, his hand fumbling for the light switch on the bed controls. "Where were you? What happened? Someone said that you got into a fight with some girl—"

And then he got the light on and got his first good look.

His face could not help but fill with horror but he clamped it quickly before she looked at him. Just what in the _hell_ had happened to her? Torn clothes. Bruised, scraped and tear stained face. And her hands and forearms—

And she didn't even look at him as she crossed the room to the same chair in the corner that she had been occupying with few words since that first night.

"Kim," he intoned in his rarely used voice that with the right words would invoke the Lotus Blade—

She stopped, turning just her head to look back at him from the corner. There was a hurricane of emotions in those emerald eyes, some Ron recognized, others shook him to his very core as he saw the fleeting vestiges of rage/madness and the darkness lurking in their corners.

"Come here, please," he said, using the same tone, indicating the side of his bed. "Let me fix your injuries."

He could see the reluctance in her. But is was a reluctance based on the fact that she had thrown up a wall against the outside to defend against all of her that hurt in all ways. She was fearful that any contact, even with him, would breach that wall.

_Was she attacked?_ Ron wondered. _Has there been another—there had to be! And my Guardians from Yamanuchi are aware of it. They dropped off the first aid kit. But just what happened? She looks like someone killed her 'rents or something._

Kim stood, body rocking back and forth on her feet from torn impulses, ripped emotions. There was a look in her eyes that Ron could not believe he was seeing. That she both wanted him—and was afraid of him, for reasons that only she knew, and he couldn't guess.

"KP," he said with the same tone softened, "we have always been here for each other when it really counted. We always will be. You need . . . . . help. Please let me give it to you."

As if she was in a cloud, her eyes looking at him, but not seeing him, she came over and sat on his bedside. As he started to administer to her injuries, as his hands touched hers, her eyes closed as if for the first time she was feeling the touch of another person on her.

They stayed closed for the entire time Ron worked—

And it was done in silence.

It was fortunate that Ron had been tutored by Kim's mom because some of them were quite nasty. _These are glass and metal cuts. That looks like pieces of window glass in her hair. Did she get thrown out of the building?_

What she wasn't aware of, was that while he was working on one arm or the other, he was always holding it with his other hand. And while he was doing this, back in a corner of his mind, the healing technique that Sensei had taught him was at work, flowing through that hand into Kim's arm, working on the worse of the wounds that would normally had required stitches. They would still be ugly wounds that would need to heal completely, but they would do so much faster and without her having to see a doctor. Which he believed was the last thing she needed right now.

Finally he finished. He looked up into her face and trying to sound bright, "now we have a matching set of wrappings. At least as far as one arm goes."

That actually got him a weak smile. Which gave him the courage to ask, "what happened KP?"

Her face clouded up again and she heaved herself up off the bed to wander aimless around its foot, eyes, running with tears, staring at the ceiling, as her mouth worked as if to say something that would _not_ come out.

Finally Ron could take it no more. He pulled himself over to the side of him bed even as he said, "KP, don't worry about it. You're too worked up. Come," and he patted the open space on the bed beside him, "lie down with me and let me hold you. I can try to chase whatever the demons are away."

Kim stopped and looked at him for the longest time with her eyes fathomless as emotions he couldn't even guess at raced through her. He was now truly frightened. She seemed to be teetering on the edge of . . . . . something he dare not even think about.

Then suddenly she moved. "No Ron," she said in a voice so emotionally tight that he couldn't even recognize it if she wasn't standing right in front of him. She went over and got the chair from the corner and carried it back toward the door. "Being held by you," she continued as she shoved the top of the chair up under the door handle so that it was jammed closed, locking them in—

And the rest of the world out—

"It's not enough. Not at this moment," Kim finished as she came back to the corner of his bed and despite the bandages and her injuries, she deftly peeled her dirty, torn tee off, exposing more welts and bruises and of course, her bra. She flung the shirt onto the daybed next to the window without her eyes leaving Ron's.

"I need you to make love to me Ron. I _need_ you too. No questions, none of your worries or dithering around. You're going to make love to me Ron Stoppable. Here, now."

"Kim," Ron's voice went up three octaves. "What are—what is going on? What happened to you? Why are you doing this?"

"Shut UP Ron," came Kim's voice, suddenly harsh and angry. "I am in control here. If you love me, if you take any damn about all our years together, you'll just shut up and do as I say."

"Kim," he replied in a half pleading, half warning tone, "we've been through all this. I can't and won't break my promise."

"FUCK YOUR PROMISE!" Kim shot back at him with a barely controlled fury that surprised even him. "As far as I'm concerned, " she continued with blazing eyes and pleading tone, "I am going to die tomorrow. God knows how. Monkey Fist might show up and kill me to get to you, or I might choke on a chicken bone. THERE ARE NO MORE TOMORROWS RON. I WANT TO MAKE LOVE TO YOU. I WANT YOU TO TAKE MY VIRGINITY. I WANT TO FEEL YOU IN AND AROUND ME. I WANT THAT RON! NOW! AND I WILL HAVE THAT NOW BEFORE ONE OR BOTH OF US ARE DEAD BECAUSE THERE ARE NO FUCKING TOMORROWS!"

She reached up with her hands, pawing through her hair as debris rained out of it. She yanked out one rope of it and held it up for Ron to see. It was only long enough to reach her shoulders unlike the rest of her waist length fall. "See this," she spat. "This taught me that I'm mortal. A mercenary's bullet! Took the lock right off! Remember that Ron, remember that island? If I had been a split second slower, the top of my head would have been blown off!"

Ron then barked a cry of surprise as she suddenly rushed him, grabbing his pajama tops, bodily ripping the front of them open, actually tearing the left side off of him. The bandaging on the entry and exit wounds on his arm and the surgical wound on his stomach where the one bullet was removed showed plainly.

"Three bullets Ron," she croaked, now fighting back tears. "Any one of them _could have_ killed or permanently paralyzed you. And we would have never known the feeling of being together!"

Kim stepped back away, a wildness now in her eyes that Ron could never imagine her being capable of flaring behind the rage, grief and wildness that blazed at the same time.

"I don't give a damn about your promise Ron. There _is_ no tomorrow. We have no future. Something is out to destroy us, individually and together and it is succeeding! I will have you here and now before anything else happens."

Ron looked at a person he had never seen before and could not believe he was seeing now—

And yet something—

"And I get no say in the matter?" he asked quietly.

"No Ron," she shook her head sharply. "You will do as I say."

Ron nodded slowly, watching her carefully, remembering recently spoken words of advice, and hating every single bit of it. "And," he went on in the same quiet voice, "none of my feelings, morals, standards, bits of self and pride and honor have nothing to do with it."

"DAMNIT RON!" Kim spat with a stamp of her foot, "you wouldn't _have_ any of that without ME! Who's held you hand through all the makeovers and personality changes you've gone through in the last couple of years. You OWE me this!"

Ron's eyes flashed wide and only calling on the Training of the Blade was he able to keep his sudden anger from showing. "I owe you? So by only breaking a solemn vow to a respected elder, as well as totally degrading and completely cheapening what should be the most sensual, intimate, important and loving moment that any bonded couple should ever know—"

"SHUT UP RON!"

"I think I should be at least allowed my say KP—"

"NO," she sputtered and leapt right up into his face, her bandaged finger pointed directly into his nose. "I'll say it again. I am in control here. We do what **_I_** say. I need this, I need this more than you can possibly imagine."

Ron now had the picture. And it wasn't pretty. And there was no way to play nice. "So, in your overwhelming need to try and reestablish control on some part of your life, what are you going to do if I flat out say no? Rape me? Kind of hard—"

The blow almost took his teeth right out of the side of his mouth. He saw stars and things started to go black. But he had been prepared for the chance and desperately pulled his psych back to consciousness.

He blinked the stars out of his eyes, felt the blood dripping onto his bare chest from his cut lips and gums. His vision cleared to gaze on the figure standing next to the bed, literally seething with volcanic fire. And he could now see something else that frightened him more than anything else did. Only in trusting to the words of the Sensei, could he find the will to go on.

"Kimberly," he managed, as he grabbed a Kleenex from the box to dab at his split lip, "if you were to tell me that they had announced that terrorists had set a dirty bomb under city hall a block away, that everyone had jammed the highways in panic and that we were going to die in an hour when the bomb went off 'cause there was no way to get out; if you told me that a monster asteroid was going to plow into the planet in thirty minutes and wipe out all life; if you told me that Adrena Lynn had gotten out of the loony bin and had poisoned you with only two hours to live; I would break my promise in less than a heartbeat and do my best in my goofy, whimpy, unmanly own way, to try and make the most, passionate love to you that you could imagine."

He threw the tissue into the trash, then carefully using another one, started to swab up the blood drops in his chest. "But I'm sorry. As bad as things are, as bad as they could get. I believe with all my heart that there will be a tomorrow. Therefore I will keep my promise and my honor and integrity. Yes, I have always in one way or another, always allowed you, usually willingly, to wrap myself around your little finger. But in this I shall stand firm. And not the puppy-dog pout or you flashing your boobs is going to make me change my mind."

Even as he saw that sparks starting to come out her eyes, he also saw dread and defeat lurk at their corners. "Don't do this to me Stoppable," she grated. "If you loved me—"

"If your going to bring that subject up," he suddenly leaned out into her, "than right back at ya, Possible. If you really loved me, would you be doing this to me?"

"Ron," she cried out in abject misery, "I'm losing everything! I've lost everything—"

"Fine," he shot back at her. "Then let me help you find it again. But not like this. Not in this way."

"No!" she said with hands up, backing away. "**_I_** have to do this. I have to be in control."

"Why?" Ron pleaded with her. "We're supposed to be partners. We're suppose to help each other regardless of what kind of situation we're in."

Kim shook her head violently. "No! I have to have control of my life."

"I don't care if you have control of your life and mine. You always have in some ways and in other ways it's done us both good. But there are some things, some places, some beliefs, where each of us has to draw a line and the other has to respect it."

"But none of that matters Ron!" she almost shrieked back at him, "because there is and will not be a tomorrow. Something else will happen. Some other disaster will strike!"

Ron tied to reach out of a hand and she backed away. He tried reaching out with his voice, "KP, you _have_ to trust me on this. If, in all the dangerous and strange situations we've ever been in, **_THIS_** one you have to trust me with. THERE WILL BE A TOMORROW. AND A DAY AFTER! My heart knows this as well as it knows its love for you. What has been happening is strange and bizarre in the least but it _has_ to come to an end. At some point, either a reason or an explanation will come to light. After all, Bonnie is now out of the picture. With that, things _have_ to get better, don't they?"

And Ron's eyes again went wide as Kim suddenly started to laugh. And shivers ran through him as it wasn't a totally sane laugh. She staggered back to sit on the edge of the day bed where she wrapped her arms around her middle as the convulsions of mirth slowly transformed into convulsions of sobs.

Ron watched her the whole time, feeling in her sounds a lost bitterness, wondering just where it was all going to end.

Finally, Kim was reduced to quiet chokes and sniffs. She wiped furiously at her nose and eyes even as she reached for and shrugged back into her tee. She then stood and headed to the door, where she removed the chair and placed it back into the corner. She did all this without once looking at Ron.

Kim then came to stand at the end of his bed, facing the door. She still did not look at him when she said, "Damn you Stoppable. God DAMN you. Finally, after all this time, I realize what a looser that you truly are."

Ron sucked in a breath and jerked back as if slapped even as she went on.

"Your also a naive, hopeless, simple, _stupid, **ASS**!_ You have no clue at to reality. Well, here's some total reality in your face loser. It seems that Ms Bonnie; even from her hospital bed can strike at us right in the middle of our guts. For I ran into a girl tonight, the one you heard I had a fight with. Hell, it was no fight, I nearly killed the little helpless bitch because I was so mad. And what was I mad at—"

And Kim at last turned just her head, hatred and rage burning on her face, at him, at her, at whoever, pinning him to the bed like a fly on the wall. "The girl told me that she was the one who kidnapped Rufus from your vet. And before your hopes soar loser," she added as Ron actually jumped out of bed at this news, "Bonnie had that same girl crush you hairless mole rat in a trash compactor as revenge for your taking her on over the cheer routines."

Ron's face blanched and he fell to his knees, eyes pleading, disbelieving—

The redheaded girl in front of him gave him just the littlest bit of a cruel smile when she said, "welcome to a fucked world loser. Do you really want a tomorrow now?"

And with that, Kim Possible, walked out of Ron Stoppable's life as he collapsed in a sobbing heap on the floor.

And he of course, was in no position to see her break into a run, past the surprised staff, her own sobs returning, as she bolted out of the ward.

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In the ruin of her psych, she knew that she ran all the miles home. She was a pathetic, sweating, heaving, tortured mass of hurt by the time she climbed in through her bedroom window. She managed to pull herself over to her wastebasket in time for it to catch what little was left in her stomach as she dry heaved into it.

"Kim?"

_Oh God! No! What is she doing up?_

She could here the steps on the stairs to her loft. "Kim honey, are you okay, is Ron okay?"

"GO AWAY!" she screamed at the top of her voice just as her mother's head cleared the lip of the portal.

"Kimberly?" her mother was momentarily shocked frozen.

The teen came up over the edge of her bed and threw the wastebasket at her mother screaming, "LEAVE ME ALONE! EVERYONE LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Her mom automatically ducked the missile but could not duck the event. So unexpected, so out of character, so completely dangerous, unusual and bizarre was the behavior of her daughter, that against all her instincts, she retreated; to get her husband, make some phone calls and summon other help if needed.

Kim watched her go and felt triumph, rage, and betrayal toward her mother. Another who didn't care! She turned and snatched the Prom photo of her and Ron off of her nightstand and stood for a moment, screaming at it, "I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"

She then went and flung the picture out the window. As she saw it fall and imagined that she heard it break, another part died. It was then that she turned and said, with all the total and complete hatred, contempt, disgust, loathing, and too many other emotions to describe, "I hate you! **_I HATE YOU!_**"

She was speaking directly to her own reflection in her mirror.

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Bonnie became aware again but this seemed to be as if she was waking into a dream. She was still in her hospital bed, tied down, and of all people, the loser, Ron Stoppable, dressed in a hospital gown, bandages wrapped around his head, the front of his face starting to look bruised and swollen, was in the room with her. That was weird enough to make it a dream, but the fact that Stoppable had some kind of glowing sword in his hand and was just in the process of pressing it up against her throat—

When Bonnie felt the cold, sharp touch of the blade, she came to the rapid conclusion that this, and he, was no dream.

She tried to push herself back up and away but the restraints held her. Not that it would have mattered for the blade unerringly stuck to the very edge of her skin as she moved.

"W—w—what—what do you—"

"I think you know why I'm here Rockwaller," came the flint hard voice and Bonnie's eyes widened in sudden understanding and terror. This was no dream, but the sword—how? Why did it glow? Why would the loser—

"I guess you didn't think that needed an answer Rockwaller," Stoppable interrupted her thoughts in the same deadly voice and Bonnie's heart would have jumped into her throat except that the edge of the blade pressed harder there and the terrified brunette felt just the tiniest bit of it slicing—

Then it backed off. Bonnie lay there, panting in her terror, feeling the littlest tickle of blood running down her neck, trying to find her voice before—

"Rockwaller," and she saw his arm tense up again—

"Okay, okay," Bonnie managed to get out in a whispered, gaggled scream. She was rewarded by the blade backing up until the point came out from under her chin and was visible to her—

And there the point stayed, rock steady, as if the arm and hand holding it were made out of forged steel.

Bonnie tried to catch her breath, tried to think of something to explain this to her mind—

He didn't give her a chance.

"I'm waiting," Stoppable growled and the point started to slide back in."

"What do you want me to say," she screamed in a choked whisper. "Yes. I had your pet kidnapped. Yes, when you stood up to me, got in the way of my plans, scared the ever living shit out of me in that office, I had him killed."

There was a moment's silence, then Stoppable's voice, sounding strangely serene, asked, "and just how scared are you right now Rockwaller?"

Bonnie tired hard to swallow, but there was nothing there to do it with. Fighting a mouth as dry as the moon, "if it makes you happy, you've scared the pee out of me, literally. So now I've confessed my sins. What now?"

"And just what do you expect Rockwaller?" came the reply in a voice as cold as death.

Bonnie closed her eyes as a shiver ran through her entire body. She had had no idea, no conception that he, that this was ever—

Her eyes snapped open as she felt the blade press into her neck again and she breathlessly screamed, "I know, I know. I pay for my sins. An eye for an eye, me for your pet!" She choked back a wave of nausea that ran up from her stomach. It lurched further and it bubbled up, she gagged and coughed, small streams splashing or dribbling out of her mouth onto her gown-covered chest.

When she got control of the spasms, as the world wavered in her bleary, tear filled eyes, she looked before her—

The blade—

She looked up to see Stoppable, now holding the blade upright with his arms crossed in front of him. The expression on his face was that of carved stone. Only his eyes showed any emotion—

And they blazed at her as if she was looking into the depths of hell.

And she already knew that was where she belonged.

She took a couple of deep breaths, tried to blink the tears out of her eyes (damning the hospital for completely strapping down her arms when she slept), and took a moment to steady herself. There was no question as to what happened now. But there were some things that she wanted to say.

"Ron," she croaked, desperately hoping that she could control at least her voice and have the dignity of at least sounding intelligent in her last moments, "nothing I can do or say, can bring your pet back. Just as nothing I can do or say right now can even begin to make up for what I have done to half of Middleton High, your friends, you or," and she had to choke back a sob before she could blurt, "KIM!"

It took three or four heaves of crying before she could bite it back and try to breathe again. Without looking at Ron again, she went on. "Believe me when I say that in the last couple of days, that all the scales have fallen from my eyes and that I know _exactly_ what I did, what I've become and what I'm responsible for. I am sorry Ron. I—I know that's a piss poor word considering all I did, but it's all I can offer. I sorry to the very marrow of my bones. I was mad Ron, not angry, MAD! Insane, crazy. Crazy as anything that psycho TV chick ever was. But I don't use that as an excuse. I was offered help, I refused it. I could have adapted and changed. I wouldn't! I went out of my way to be the nastiest, most evil bitch this town has ever known. And **_I_ **did it on purpose."

She looked up at him, her face that of an absolutely lost and abandoned child. "I cant make up for any of it Ron. And nothing I can ever do can even start to make up for the damage I've done. I—I tried to kill myself. And it would have worked if Tara and Felix hadn't found me at that exact moment! But that's what I deserve Ron. I have no life. I have no future. I have NOTHING!" And she dropped her head as more sobs took her.

And through them, Bonnie managed to blubber, "And that's what I HAD Ron. Nothing! A dysfunctional, fracturing, hate filled family based on contempt and the deliberate ignoring of what was happening within it. A social life that was NOTHING because to all the girls, I was just an uppity bitch who reached the top of the Food Chain, not through talent or ability, but through spite, maliciousness, opportunistic attacks on rivals and the ability to come up with the fastest put-down this side of the Rockies. To the boys—HAH! I was The Slut! Pure and simple. But worse than that, rather than sleeping with _any_ boy, I would do so only with _the right_ boys, and they got regular access as their rewards. But they told jokes and stories about me in the locker room, I'm sure you heard them. There wasn't an ounce of respect or affection for me among _any_ of them. And I sure as hell didn't deserve it either."

Her head whipped up and there was disbelief and wonder in her eyes. "But you and Kim, you both, apart and together, had and have everything _I_ wanted and dreamed of. And you didn't _have_ to work for it. You didn't even seem to have to _try_. You both just _had_ it and it was so effortless. And **_EVERYONE_ **in school knew it. They knew the whole time that you two were meant for each other. And they all cheered when you finally took that last step in the gym at the prom and made it known to _you two_, to each other, what everybody else had known all along."

And her head dropped again. "And I hated everybody in that crowd at that moment. I hated you. I hated Kim, but most of all, I hated myself, because some little part of me inside was cheering along with everybody else. And . . . . . . . something . . . just . . . snapped."

Bonnie dropped her head with a sad shake. "Even that night, you two made it look so effortless. And I—I can't even get my mother to say that she loves me like she really means it."

"So don't you see Ron," and she back looked up at him with an almost hysterical little laugh, "There's nothing for me beyond Middleton High. Do I have _any_ idea what I want to do with the rest of my life? I could be a Porn Princess I suppose, I'm already a big enough slut. But I'd have to dye my hair blond and get a boob job but then," as her voice dropped to the very depths of despair. "That wouldn't be the real me either. No one knows the real me . . . . . . . I don't even know the real me." She looked up at him as lost as the middle of space. "I don't know if there is a me."

"So you see Ron," trying to sound oh so convincing, "there's nothing for me here. I deserve to die. I—" and she again choked and closed her eyes as she gritted out around her teeth. "I want to die. I so desperately want to die. Killing me—" and she sobbed again but tried to instantly control it. After a moment, she looked back up, "Killing me would be the best thing for me Ron. A mercy. I know you hate me. You have every right too. But I know how everyone has always talked about just how compassionate a guy you are. You can have both. Your revenge, and take a step of pure mercy and compassion, if you just take that strange glowing sword of yours, and slice my throat with it."

Bonnie continued to look up at him, her eyes now begging him to carry it through. "Please Ron," she whispered. "I always knew that you were a good guy. I just couldn't say it. Do this for a lost girl who has no home to go to. Do it for her, and for Rufus."

Ron's eyes continued to burn into her. The wrist holding the glowing sword was moving just the tiniest bit, but it was enough to cause the tip of the sword to rock back-and-forth several inches.

"Do if for Rufus you say," he said in a tone that was dangerous but yet conversational. "Why should that matter? After all, he was just a _pet_. An _animal_, wasn't he."

Bonnie's head dropped as if struck like a blow. She took several moments, fighting back the sobs that were trying to rise in her throat before she could say, "alright damnit! He was your friend. I could never understand it. But everybody said he was so unusual and clever. But I'm sorry, I could never see him as anything more than—

"Despite all the things you saw him do at Wannaweep, or when you were kidnapped by the Bebe's. Despite everything he and I did together on campus. He was only an animal."

"Okay, okay, again I was jealous," she wailed at him. "He was your _friend_ okay. Which is something I haven't had in years, ever since Tara and I drifted apart during Middle School. I don't remember what its like to have one, okay!"

_Damn_, Bonnie wished her hands were free to wipe her running eyes and nose. "So I had your _friend_ killed Ron. All the more reason to want revenge, isn't it?"

Ron nodded ever so slightly. "But Tara, despite what you've done to me, despite what you've done to Kim, despite the fact that you say you _killed Rufus,_" and Bonnie's head snapped back at the sudden change of tone. But Ron's voice was instantly back the way it was.

"Tara believes, or so she says after I called her and woke her up in the middle of this very early morning, that you didn't understand what Rufus was. That you were MAD at the time, and that you should have a chance to redeem yourself, giving her a way to forgive you, as her parents and religion have told her that she must do whatever the provocation. She wants desperately to be your friend again Bonnie. And yet you wont give her the chance."

"I . . want . . . to . . . . die!" Bonnie lamented with a twisted, choked voice. "I wont even be able to ever show my face in public in this town again once the word of everything I did gets out. And what is out there for me anywhere else? I want to DIE Ron! Kill ME!"

Ron slowly shook his head and said in a soft tone. "No, no I don't think so."

Bonnie felt what little of her psych that was left start to crack at his sure, firm words. Surely he didn't mean—

"Killing you would be too easy an out for you Rockwaller. Letting you live and having you face everyone you've hurt, forcing you to explain your actions, apologizing to them, seeking their forgiveness or tasting their wrath, being exposed to the public scrutiny and embarrassment, having to have you _work_ off any fine, punishment or requirement that your victims place on you would be a much more fitting revenge."

Sheer horror had taken over Bonnie's face as Ron made those soft-spoken, sure words. Hell was truly opening its doors to take her. She would have too, at her first opportunity—

"And," Ron said pointedly, his arms coming apart, his one holding the sword upright in front of him, "don't think that I'm about to leave you to your own plots and devices. You are not going to die Bonnie Rockwaller. Not any time soon unless some true natural disaster overtakes you. I leave this hospital after the sun comes up in a few short hours, at that time, my Guardians," and he waved his free hand to the empty space beyond the foot of Bonnie's bed, and her jaw dropped as _six_ figures, dressed all in back, sized tall to short, sex or race unknown, suddenly appeared before her eyes. She blinked twice at them, with the third blink—

They were gone.

"They," and Stoppable's voice was now heavy with emotion, "will be with you day and night, until it has been decided that you have fulfilled your debts and obligations. _They_, will keep you alive, be it from an attack from an outside source, such as Carla Ethome, or by your own hand. You will live Rockwaller, to repair the damage you have done to the lives of others. Whither or not you do anything with your own life, I really don't give a good GodDamn." And at that point, his voice shook with emotion and he had to stop for just a moment before he could say, "for after what you have done to my Kimberly, I truly want to kill you. Every fiber of my being screams for it."

Ron had to stop and run his free hand over his eyes. When he was done, he snapped the sword into a quick spin around his wrist. As Bonnie sucked in a startled breath, "This blade, is only to be wielded in the cause of good against evil." Ron now said solemnly. "You are not truly evil Rockwaller, merely spiteful, malicious and hungry. Hungry for power, attention, status. And even that is not your doing, as the tragedy of your life, and the choices you have made in it are revealed. For what you are really hungry for is recognition of your true talents and of course, simple, uncomplicated love, be it of a friend, a lover, a soul mate or you mother and sisters."

Then Ron's voice and face hardened again. "Yet, despite it all, I wanted so badly to grant you your fondest wish. But it would not be quickly. Not by any means. After what my Kimberly has been going through the last couple of months, if I could stretch out your death for the same span of time I would."

"For," and then Ron had to stop when his voice caught, "after she found out what happened to Rufus tonight, she came to me, but it really wasn't Kim. She was MAD as you were MAD Rockwaller. For her world is destroyed and she said and did things in utmost desperation as if a drowning woman going down for the last time. She finally left me in rage and despair, what she wanted unfulfilled. And her parting words were of what your young girl supposedly did to Rufus. And my Kimberly said it intentionally strike and hurt me, which it did."

Ron flicked the blade again, the tip passing inches from her face, which jerked in response. "I was ready to summon this blade and use it to _kill_ you in vengeance and anger, which is after all what you are asking of me, but which would be in direct defiance of the reasons this blade exists and the reasons why I, and not another who wants it, can call it to me."

"But I wanted too soooooo bad," he said with a look that chilled Bonnie to her very core.

Then Ron took a deep breath— . . . . . . . . —and slowly released it, at which time, a calming came over him. And when he again opened his eyes, he looked down on Bonnie, with pity, understanding, and the compassion that she had always heard was there.

"Fortunately," he said in a now, soft, sincere voice, "my Guardians thought it wise to contact my Sensei, and he came to me, when it seemed, I really _really_ needed him in a way I never thought I would."

Then a slightly grim smile came to Ron's face. "And as much as I might not like it at this moment, he gave me guidance and wisdom. The wisdom I have passed along to you as the fate I have told you, that you will not die, that you will atone for all your mistakes, pride and malice."

A cruel smile came to Ron's face. "But you know, thinking about it, I'm looking forward to having to watch you squirm in front of all the others you've screwed up. I'm actually going to enjoy listening to you having to sound humble and apologetic and trying to sound like you actually _mean_ it even when those your telling it to are screaming back into your face that it doesn't matter, that your always going to be the bitch that screwed up their lives."

Bonnie dropped and twisted her head away, pleading to herself for a hole to crawl into.

Ron stopped and took a deep breath, narrowing his eyes as he tried to relax. "My Sensei also had guidance for me. That guidance—"and a shadow passed across his face as his eyes lifted to the window—

And the world outside.

Bonnie felt the strength there, which literally _forced_ her head back around to look at him—

"I must trust my beliefs," Ron said with a voice stained with emotion, "and hopes that my Kimberly will survive this trial that she is undergoing. She may have forsaken me, but I will not forsake her _ever_. When she is ready to come back to me, I will be waiting with open arms and all the love in my heart to try and heal whatever injuries to body, heart and soul that she may have suffered."

With that, Ron looked back down of the shivering, frightened, awed girl before him, and said, "the Lotus Blade will not be corrupted this morning. Not by the likes of you Bonnie Rockwaller. It will survive with its pride and honor intact, as was I forced to do so, when the young woman I love more than life itself, made demands of me that I could not accept. It is not pretty, it is not nice, but it is the way of things sometimes. And only good can come of it in the end."

And with that, Ron Stoppable looked to the blade in his hand—

And it melted away as if turned to a sudden vapor, wisping away in the draught from the vents.

Bonnie now _knew_ that this was a dream. Between appearing/disappearing 'Guardians' and a sword that made like a ghost—

"This is happening Bonnie," Ron said gravely to her as if reading her thoughts. "And you best pay attention to what you have been told. Life is going to be rough enough for you as it is. Don't make it any worse."

Bonnie looked at Stoppable as if he had to be a dream. "But it seems so unreal," she breathed, "I can't believe this is happening. Your acting as if my killing your pet . . . no . . no, your friend—that _demands_ revenge! You can't be that forgiving! You cant—" and Bonnie's words froze in her mouth as Stoppable suddenly gave her a big smile.

"W—w—what—?" was all the girl could gasp out.

Ron Stoppable leaned in close to the suddenly dumb struck girl. He reached out with the hand that was now free of the sword and gently patted her on the arm. "It's okay Bonnie. As angry as I am with you, that is the one thing that you _don't_ have to worry about."

Bonnie after a moment, with her mouth and eyes both wide and silent, could only make a vague gesture with her restrained hands for him to continue.

Ron's smile grew, and he said softly, "when my Sensei came to me, he knew what the Guardians had heard. The first thing my Master did when he reached me, was to take me on a journey, a journey to find Rufus's spirit. So that I might know, and I might find some measure of peace."

And after a long moment of silence, Bonnie was able to find enough power of speech to whisper, "and did you find him?"

Ron nodded. "We did. He is far, far away, and he is in danger for he is among and participating in a big fight. But his spirit is alight and he was well. He is alive Bonnie, _alive!_"

Never in her life had she received a greater direct shock. She thought she was having a heart attack. She could only stare dumbly at Ron as he said—

"We don't know what your young friend did to fool you, or when or how Rufus got away from her. I have not been able to reach those whom I think he is with for their special phone lines are out, which I must say bothers me plenty. But I felt him Bonnie, and it confirmed what my heart told me all along."

A questioning look came across Bonnie's face. It was all she could manage.

Ron's smile grew bigger. "I never believed him to be dead Bonnie. Through an . . . event that involves the certain item you were just introduced to, Rufus and I are . . . bonded to a certain extent. So—" and then Ron gave her a little wink, "In my heart-of-hearts, I could tell that he was alive. Lost and far away, trapped maybe, without a way home and no way for me to find him, but alive. That's why it was so shocking to me that Kim told me what she did the way she did. Because I didn't believe it, but I have never doubted anything she has ever told me before because she won't lie to me, not even when she's angry and wants to cause pain. Not even in the depths of madness such as she was would she do that to me. And SHE believed it. Which made it all the more believable to her and so to me."

He stood back up, his eyes now sparkling. "But Rufus is alive. So you have one less burden on your soul Rockwaller. That is good, for you have far too many others to work off now. And that you will do, kicking and screaming if you have to, but you will do it."

And with that, he turned away and like a ghost, glided out the door.

And Bonnie Rockwaller was left wondering if it was a dream or a nightmare—

Even as, a small insignificant little portion of her being that she had been trying so hard to stomp and murder, cheered for all it was worth.

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Mr. and Mrs. Possible sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, their heads hung low in the early morning light that was filtering in the covered window. They had both been up, locked in a tight, internal battle since their daughters dramatic arrival home in wee hours.

They had not attempted to go all the way back up the stairs into her loft. If there had been any more sounds of violence, her destroying her furniture and things, they would have done so in a shot. But all they heard was some brief screaming followed by a long, lonesome period of wailing cries.

They had finally stopped a couple of hours earlier and Mr. Possible had risked a brief pop-up of his head, only to see in. He saw her sprawled across her bed, apparently asleep.

Mrs. Possible had called the hospital. The staff had checked. Ron appeared to be upset when they entered his room, but otherwise okay. Mrs. Possible had been sorely tempted to go talk to Ron to find out exactly what had happened, but all things considered, she didn't think it was wise to leave her husband home alone with Kim should she wake up.

So they had sat, frozen into a mode of indecision totally alien to their marriage partnership due to the total unexpectedness and violence of their daughters arrival home after so many days of half-dead lethargy at the hospital.

Sudden noises brought both their heads up. It was the bathroom door off the side den, the one Kim used as hers. They both came to their feet and crept out into the foyer. They heard the shower in that bath run.

They looked at each other in apprehension and nervous ignorance. In an attempt to find out if Kim had been involved in _something_, they had turned on the all news radio station. It had told of a massive vandalism rampage through the center of town by what could only be described by its sheer volume, as an entire gang of teenagers. But they had been fast moving and possibly even equipped with police scanners for other than a couple of sightings of what might have been a couple of girls bodily throwing trashcans onto parked cars, they had not been seen.

But Mr. and Mrs. Possible had seen Kim's bloody, torn clothes and the massive bandaging of her hands and arms—

The shower stopped. And all too soon for their daughter to go through her normal morning makeup and hair routine, they heard shuffling feet coming around toward the kitchen.

They gasped as Kim came into the foyer and she stopped cold when she realized _they_ were there, her closed-off, haunted eyes staring at them as if a deer caught in the headlights. She was dressed in a formless, baggy sweat outfit. Her hair wasn't even combed, just pulled into a tail, and then wrapped up into a tight bun on the back of her neck. The fresh marks and scars on her face and neck blazed brightly as if purposely scrubbed hard to make them red and raw. The bandages on her arms and hands were still water soaked as if she hadn't even made an attempt to dry them.

"Kimberly," her mother breathed.

That seemed to shake the teen from her frozen poise. "Good morning mother, good morning father," she said in a dead voice as she swept between them into the kitchen. Her parents turned, stupefied, watching as their daughter quickly gathered scraps and leftovers into a brown bag and then worked at making a bowl of cereal.

"Kim," her mother managed again. "What are you doing?"

Their daughter didn't even look in their direction, "getting ready to go to school, what else."

"Kimmy cub," her dad finally managed—

"Don't call me that father," came the sharp, angry voice that sounded like their daughter but—"you know I _hate_ that name!"

"Kimberly," her mom started firmly, wanting to establish control—

"Listen, both of you," the sweat dressed teen at the counter responded with a flat but commanding voice. "I am all right. I do not need any help and I do not need you two fussing over me like mother hens."

"Kimberly?" even her mothers voice rose an octave in surprise and alarm. The red head swerved around and those red rimmed green eyes, having faded from their emerald luster, lashed out at them even if the voice remained at the same, dead level. "Don't start you two. I don't need or want your help right now. After all, I could never get it when I wanted it from my father," and her dads head jerked back in shock. "He just passed me off on my mother, who was always on the speaker phone so the whole damn planet could hear my problems." Her mom's eyes narrowed and anger flashed behind them. But Mrs. Possible's lips stayed tightly sealed.

The angry teen watch the two adults for a moment longer then turned back to her task. After a moment, with a tone of resigned exhaustion, the voice that had belonged to Kim Possible said, "you guys wont have to worry about anything with me any more. The Princess of Middleton High has been dethroned. The Girl Who Can Do Anything has closed up shop," and a wrist snapped up to wipe at some suspicious moisture at the corner of one eye. "No more projects, no more extracurricular activities, no more going to Tokyo on a school night—"

"Kim," her mom breathed as her had face started to fall, the full realization of what was happening just hitting her—

"No more cheerleaders, no nothing. Just go to school, come home, do my homework, veg in front of the TV. No friends, no," and the teens head dipped as the lower lip quivered mightily. But she fought it and managed to get out only half cracked, "no more boys, or boy_friends_ so father, you can certainly put the black hole probe into storage."

Another wipe at the face followed by a phony but cheery, "I can catch up on all my reading. I can learn to sew like I always wanted too—"

The teen's head snapped around, and there was a big phony smile that belied the tears streaming down the face. "Maybe I can help the tweebs blow something up—"


	15. The Education of Kim Possible P1 Hurting

The silence was deafening.

And she ignored it in stony silence.

This had been the way of her entire morning on her return to school with the exception of her encounter with one who she use to call her best friend.

"Your WHAT?" Monique said, her tone matching her look of complete openmouthed disbelief at the dress and manner of the girl she had once known as Kim Possible.

"Just . . . don't . . . start," Kim warned with a hand raised.

"But this is the craziest—" Monique started anyway.

The girl that had been Kim turned to face her full on and gave it to the black girl the same way. "Get it though your thick head girl!" came the half-shout. "I have given up! Surrendered! Quit! I have taken my ball and gone home! I HAVE no life, I HAVE no friends and I don't WANT any! I just WANT to be left ALONE!"

Monique's face half crumpled into a look that said that she didn't know if she should scream with rage or grief.

Kim slammed her locker closed, picked up and slung her backpack lazily over one shoulder prior to saying, without even a look at her former friend, "I appreciate everything you ever did for me Monique. But . . . I'm too wounded this time to recover." She sniffed and had to do that damn eye wipe again. "and they just might be fatal in the end. At least as far as my ever having any kind of life again. I'm—I'm seriously looking into some of the scientific or cultural fields were I can be stationed out in the middle of literally nowhere by myself and left there for years on end." She sniffed and had to wipe again. "People just hurt too much," she squeaked.

"Oh Kim," Monique breathed in shared pain and she moved as if to hug the huddled redhead. But an arm shot out, striking the black girl gently but firmly in the chest, stopping her movement, even as the voice turned cold to say, "I mean it Monique, I really MEAN it. I do not want _any_ sympathy, feelings, emotion, _anything_, from anyone again." With that, the girl who had been Kim, turned, and walked away, leaving Monique stunned beyond . . . anything.

Of course it didn't take long for the word to flash around the campus—

And a bubble of silence could then be used to track the location of Kim Possible, wherever she went.

Oh, she paid absolute attention in class, answering any school or educational query or intercourse with cool, crisp, detached professionalism—

All the while feeling the eyes on her from all directions like homing beacons.

At first break, the Middleton Cheerleaders, Tara at their head, were gathered, frightened faced, as she came out of the English building. "Kim," Tara's voice literally begged, "say it's not true?"

Her eyes didn't even show recognition of them as she walked past at a steady pace—

And didn't look back.

She managed to make it almost all the way though her first day back with no problems.

Almost—

She was just getting up from her desk in her late period history class when the teacher— "Miss Possible?"

Kim looked over warily. The teacher held up a note. Kim, eyeing the note as if it might strike like a snake, finished gathering everything into her backpack, slung it uncaringly over her shoulder, and took the note from the teacher with just a polite nod.

She didn't open it until she got out into the hall. It took all of a moment for her to forcibly crush it into a little wad, face collapsing as she struggled momentarily to contain herself. After another moment, her eyes came open again and she _forced_ her expression back into a neutral tone. Even so, it took another moment still for her to find enough strength to push her body forward toward her last class.

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As the rest of the Middleton Student body departed for the day, the campus was left to those who stayed in the library to study, used the gym or the various athletic fields to play on or participated in the other afternoon and/or extracurricular activities.

But the student in the baggy sweats, walking around the side of the gym didn't want to be there. In fact she had seriously considered totally ignoring the note she had gotten in history, but was afraid, considering its source, what the consequence would be if she did so.

So it was with all the anticipation of walking into the mouth of a hungry lion that Kim Possible came to the PE office. Going inside, she stopped in the main outer office, daring not to look toward the filing cabinet where her cheer routines had been kept. Feeling her legs starting to turn weak and her stomach sour, she gritted her teeth and pushed ahead, toward one of the small teachers offices in the back corner—

Ms. Whitler looked up instantly even though Kim had been trying to move silently. Her eyes narrowed on seeing the teen but her voice was carefully neutral when she said, "come in Possible."

Kim moved into the region before the desk, keeping her eyes on the front of it. She had the general impression that Whitler had at some point gotten around to decorating the office, but of this of course the teen paid no mind. All she wanted to do was get whatever this ordeal was over with and get out. "You wanted to see me ma'am?"

Kim heard Whitler snort. "I should think so. I know that things have been . . . rough. But that does not take away from the fact that you now have less than a day to get ready to go."

This statement, which made absolutely no sense to Kim, caused her to lift her eyes up to look on the older woman— "excuse me ma'am? Ready to go where?"

Whitler's right eyebrow climbed halfway up her forehead. It then slowly came back down as the coach pushed back into her chair to regard the teen from a more comfortable angle. "It's Thursday afternoon Possible. We leave for Cheer Camp tomorrow after the end of class. I know things have been hard but—"

"No."

Whitler stopped talking, but there was very little change in expression other than maybe the eyes seeming to bore in a little harder. "Excuse me Possible, no . . . what?"

Kim felt those eyes, eyes that seemed to be pealing her brain like an onion—it was all she could do not to turn and run. "I—I—ah . . . I mean," Kim squeezed her eyes shut and kept them shut to close out the sight of those eyes tearing her apart. "What I said ma'am is, no, I am not doing Cheer Camp. I am resigning all my positions in all school activities, effective right now." Kim turned her head to the side and down so she could open her eyes again. "I don't wish to participate in any of the activities any longer."

And despite the fact that she wasn't looking in that direction, Kim could _feel_ the eyes boring a hole through her brain.

"Fine," said Whitler's voice in a perfectly reasonable tone. "It's your decision what you want to do with the yearbook, the dance committee and all of those but I expect your skinny butt out in the parking lot tomorrow afternoon, packed and ready to go to Camp."

Kim actually blinked at the floor three times before sheer disbelief forced her, however unwillingly, to turn her head toward the coach, who was not even looking at her any longer but was writing on a clipboard.

"Ma'am?" Kim breathed, not knowing _what_ tone to take, "I just said—"

"I don't care _what_ you _just_ said Possible," Whitler snapped back at her without a glance. "What I _know_ is that a commitment was made to me a week and a half ago for you to be my assistant coach at Cheer Camp. Now my Varsity Cheer Captain is in a psycho bed waiting to be charged with accessory in the attempted murder of _your_ boyfriend. The girl who replaced _you_ on the team broke her ankle yesterday tripping on a perfectly level sidewalk taking the trash to the curb. The Junior and Kiddy squads did that exhibition in Lowerton last weekend and _all_ of them except the one girl who missed it, have come down with some exotic creeping crud! What's left of the Varsity Squad is all that's left and all that's going and I'm going to need all the help, talent and experience I can get to even place so that we can _get_ to State and that means _you_ Possible, whether you like it or not. So get use to the idea real quick. I will see you out there, packed and ready to load tomorrow afternoon."

Then Whitler's eyes snapped up and once again grabbed Kim's entire self and reduced her to the size of a skimpering ant. "And you _will be_ there for let me tell you what will happen if your non-existent rear end is not. As you may have noticed that I, unlike most of the rest of the faculty here, am not as . . . deferring to your little . . . eccentricities. You are still 'signed up' in cheer as your PE. Duck out on me, and I _will_ fail you, on your permanent record, no questions asked. I will then go to all your other teachers and the administrator and I will raise such high holy hell about the preferential treatment that you get that, that considering how much time you've lost this semester, there's a good chance you will do poorly in your other classes as well. I will do everything I can to have you fail this semester and have to _repeat_ it, all of it again, as I said, on your permanent record."

Whitler stopped and continued to look at Kim. But there was no anger, no hate, no disgust with, or joy over what she was doing to Kim. Just a rock hard determination to get a job done the way she felt she had too and somehow Kim sensed this—

"Yes ma'am," she heard her voice tell Whitler despite all the other voices inside her head screaming at each other. "I understand. I'll—I'll be there."

Just a hint of appreciation came into the corner of those hard eyes and it vanished as if it was never there. "Good," was the gruff reply. "Now out, I've got a million things to do before then."

Kim started to turn about and her eyes swept across the office. She momentarily stopped as Whitler's 'decorating' finally came to her attention. The certificates, the little statues, the photos of Whitler across all her ages in a variety of uniforms (including her dress uniform with a bunch of others similarly attired) in a variety of world locations (many of which Kim had also been too). A sudden understanding came to Kim even as she head Whitler growl, "twenty four years. Would still be in if the arthritis in my hands hadn't gotten so bad that I couldn't do the fine work any more."

Kim glanced back at the PE coach but her head was back down into her work. Kim turned and left the office, feeling—she wasn't sure what she was feeling.

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Monique did not like to think of herself normally as a violent person. Normally.

But she was about to start breaking things in the hospital waiting room soon if—

"Hi."

She whirled about, her self-absorbed pacing had shut her off from all else, and she hadn't even heard Felix roll up (not that his chair made any noise anyway). Now she stood, torn between rage and need—

"You came right here from school," she accused with a choked voice.

Felix blinked, his expression showing that he had no idea why she was upset or what she was talking about.

'Despite the fact that Ron has checked out, despite the fact that even you would have to be aware of the talk flying around school today of what is happening to Kim," and at that name, Monique's voice choked in pain and suffering, the tears starting to flow, the look of alarm and guilty understanding starting to come to Felix Renton's face, "despite the fact that _we_ fought over this earlier in the week after that thing with that strange woman at school, _your_ back here to talk to HER! DAMN YOU!"

Felix tried to come in closer but was . . . . handicapped by his inability to be able to reach out to try to hug her, "Monique _please_. I can explain."

"What's there to explain Felix," she wailed at him as she backed away from his advancing chair. "Your suppose to be so sensitive! You would think you would be sensitive enough to realize that if your girlfriends best friend had hit rock bottom, announced that she had surrendered most of what she was to the world, had changed and renounced what little she had left and had physically forced your girlfriend away from trying to help her, that comforting that girlfriend, meaning me, should be pretty GodDamn high on your priority list. Not running off to talk to the fucking bitch that's responsible for what happened to Kim in the first place!"

"I really wanted too Monique," Felix said, a pleading look on his face. "I had every intention too. I called the here to the hospital to tell them that I wasn't coming. But apparently something happened to Bonnie last night. She's traumatic, blathering, dreaming. And it's the same as before. She'll _only_ talk to _me_. She clams up when the doctors or staff are in the room. So they have to use me to get her to talk at all and that's what she has to do if she's every going to recover!"

"SCREW HER!" Monique screamed in his face. "If she wants to die so bad, I'll help her along right now! Gun, knife, my own hands, I don't give a shit! She deserves to die! After what she's done to Kim, Ron and Rufus, she _needs_ to die. I don't have any idea where you and Tara are with with this forgiveness shit. Bonnie doesn't deserve it!"

Felix, clearly upset, was wrestling with himself on several levels, tried, "Monique, I don't expect you to understand where we're coming from. For Tara, it's her faith, which is the linchpin of her and her family's life. And it's a powerful faith, and it demands a lot of them. For me—"

He opened his hands to her, "I'm having a chance here to do what I want to do with my life, crisis and mental trauma counseling. I want to help people the same way the excellent counselor I had helped me after my . . . accident. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life living off of my reputation as the top Zombie Mayhem player by any means. I'm leaning a lot every day from the doctors, the staff . . . and Bonnie. And one thing that I've learned is that Bonnie is not evil. She's a lot of things, but none of them are anything that she truly deserves to _die_ for. The sick mind does things under stress and under the influence of drugs and alcohol and this Bonnie did. She was not responsible for her actions. She was not truly responsible for Rufus as much as we'd like to think she is. If she had been sane, and sober, and _then_ she had killed Rufus, _then_ she would be evil and then she would deserve your wraith and the fate you want to give her. As it is, I have not forgiven her either. When she recognizes and admits what she has done is wrong, when she apologizes and asks for Ron's forgiveness, then I too will forgive her, even if he does not."

Monique was looking at Felix as if he was an alien from another world, anger, and hurt burning in her eyes. "And here you are when you had to know that _I_ might also need you today after what happened to Kim. I guess I know where I truly stand."

"Monique, I'm sorry—"

"Save it Felix," she told him, trying very hard not to cry. "You've shown what really counts to you. And it's obviously not me, my feelings, views, opinions, or needs. We'll just cut it right now and save us both a lot of future grief. Then I can deal with Kim's problems without expecting to have a boyfriend to pick up my pieces if I loose it. Although that would have been real nice. I was really liking the idea. As I was liking you."

With that, Monique turned around and walked away from Felix who could only sit and watch her go.

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Kim had managed to get through the intervening twenty-four hours with a minimum of hassle. Her 'rents allowed her space which she took advantage of by spending the entire evening in her room (including taking her dinner there). She spent the evening first, (with a great deal of mental anguish) cleaning out her drawers of all her Monique and Ron stuff (which, despite how had she tried, she could not throw in the trash bag . . . yet . . but had placed into a pile next to her closet with a big sign that said 'throw away'), her extracurricular school stuff (her cheerleading uniforms she neatly put into a bag with a note for her mom to wash saying that they could be given some day to a new girl who couldn't afford them), the clothing that she wouldn't wear any more (Club Banana all, with a note sending these to charity).

Finally, she packed was little she had left in the way of personal belongs (which really wasn't much). The section of her closet that held her mission clothes and gear, and the spare sets of Ron's clothes, she couldn't even think about going there yet.

Overnight was endless tossing and turning with sleep as elusive as peace of mind (Pandaroo had been tossed on the pile with Monique and Ron's things). Her mind was churning. She was trying so hard _not_ to think or remember certain things that it was unsettling her entire system and of course her 'rents, Monique, Rufus and especially Ron were coming, unbidden and unwanted to her thoughts every other moment. There was a point in the very early morning hours were Kim was seriously considering taking a page out of Bonnie's book and going to her 'rents liquor cabinet for a drink. But considering that she would have no idea what she would be looking at (for other than some fine wines and champagnes at very special occasions) for she had never had any alcohol and she was afraid of making herself sick.

She good bye to her parents at breakfast that morning, allowing her mother to make her a substantial one of her favorites on the premise that it would be late by the time they arrived at Wannaweep and had a chance to eat again.

She wore another sweat suit to school but had washed and combed her hair into a pony tail, forcing herself while she had been doing so, to imagine herself with hair shorter than her mom's and vowing to cut it all off in the showers at camp the second or third night when no one could stop her from doing so.

Friday went pretty much at school the way the day before had. Kim saw Monique once in the hall and actually had to take in a breath at the worn, lost look on her ex-best friends face.

But that of course was all she could do—

It was an all too soon that lasted forever before the final bell sounded. Kim walked toward the gym with a reluctance was almost gluing her feet to the ground. Having to face her Squad mates again, having to 'coach' them, in her new persona? She had been avoiding giving it any thought but now the moment was at hand—and she was terrified. It was almost worth taking the fail in everything. She could skip the rest of the year, or maybe just try to get her dad or mom to use some pull to get her transferred to West Side to finish out her requirements—anything but—

Kim came past the side of the Arts building and saw the gym and the parking lot before it. Now she really felt her insides tighten up. The group going was so small; they weren't even taking a bus, but were taking a passenger van instead. She was going to be right in there _with_ them, not hiding in the back like she had hoped!

Kim stopped dead. Her mouth hung open. She hadn't expected this. She couldn't handle it. One foot started to move backward to slip back out of sight—

But Marcella looked up, eyes suddenly going bright with recognition, a hand coming up with cheery greeting as she called out, "Kim."

And Kim spun around to bolt for anywhere—

"And where do you think your going Possible," spoke the looming human mountain that was Steve Barkin who had appeared as if by magic in her path.

Kim's face and mind went totally blank as the 'flight' part of the fight or flight program got derailed. She knew instantly that Whitler had planned for this possibility and that Barkin had been in position to intercept her if needed.

She didn't surrender as much as go totally limp. She allowed Barkin to take her gently (and for the size of his hands, he had a surprising gentle touch) by the elbow and guide her toward the PE office. Her Cheermates didn't even register to Kim as she went by them, but they all watched her with various degrees of sorrow and grief mixed with the apprehension of what the coming week would bring.

By the time Barkin actually walked Kim into the office, she had revived somewhat, accepting the inevitability of it all but also allowing anger to build for Whitler to push her around like this. This had to be some form of harassment didn't it? She could sue the school for it couldn't she?

"Thank you Mr. Barkin," Kim heard Whitler's voice, now in front of her and she looked up to see the PE coach looking at her with a disappointed glare. "I was afraid that she might not have the intestinal fortitude to hold up her side of the agreement. I'm going to take her in to her gym locker to get her travel bag as I believe that's where she stored it. We'll be out to the van directly." She then pointed out towards the locker room and said with a stern voice, "go."

Kim could feel her temper rising as she preceded the coach out. She felt her back stiffen and her teeth start to grit as she turned into the row where hers was and—

"You just passed your locker by Possible—"

And Kim whirled about on the adult with half a snarl on her face, "so what! Your forcing me to do something I really don't want to do. That must be against about a half dozen laws and policies. My parents could sue you, Barkin, the school—"

"I got the impression from the rumor mill that you weren't even talking to your parents—"

Kim's mouth snapped shut with an audible 'click'.

With a face bearing the look of true, righteous indignation, Whitler stepped up until she was literally chest-to-chest with the teen where her low but carrying voice preceded to rip, tear, slice, dice and reduce Kim Possible to her element parts.

"And don't for one all-that's-holy second take that attitude with me young lady. And I use that term loosely. Apparently I didn't get through that red-haired, platinum plated head of yours yesterday so I'll be a little bit plainer. Your being the high and mighty 'Girl-Who-Can-Do-Anything' World Saver doesn't mean _shit_ to me Possible because I've been living, sweating and dieing with other boys and girls who have been fighting and bleeding to save the world without any of the limelight and thanks that you've been getting for the past twenty four years. Boys and girls, many from poor families to which the military was the only chance to escape poverty and have a chance to gain an education and yet, in many places in this country, what their paid is actually below the poverty level for that region. Some treatment for the brave kids who defend our country huh? And even after, for vets like me, I've got my service pension on top of my teachers salary and that barely pays for a decent leased house in this town after you deduct a car payment, insurance, my teachers union dues, gas, utilities and all the other crap that I never had to pay for on a military installation. But you know, I wouldn't trade it for the world because, despite the fact that its in violation of my lease, I'm at last am able to have my very own pet kitten, something I've wanted _all_ my life and something I could never even consider having due to having to move every two years, living in a barracks or in a tent city in some foreign country."

And she looked harshly at Kim and spoke with a tone of equal feeling, "And that was a what? A two or three _million_ dollar house that you live in. And your parents, yeah, they sure seemed like good, level headed people, but I was curious and I looked up their average income on the Internet. Do you know that against that same combined military pension and teachers salary, that your parents combined make almost half a _million_ more a year than me?"

Whitler shook her head in angry awe. "You've never wanted or needed for anything have you? You've always gotten _anything_ you wanted one way or another, even resorting to that famous 'puppy dog pout' that I've heard about. Even here in school, with the exception of the Librarian and a couple of others, you have the whole faculty, even Barkin for the most part, wrapped around your little finger. And I, only as a fresh-eyed newly arrived outsider can really see it."

Then Whitler snapped her face right down into Kim's startled one. "Well, guess what Princess? The world outside of Middleton just slapped you in the face. Someone had to show you that eventually you were going to have to leave this cozy little cocoon and fate dropped that task to me. And sure as shit I'm up to taking it. And I'm not going to make it easy for you. When you graduate, _if_ you do, and you hit the real world out there, your going to find a _lot_ of people like me if for no other reason but they want to stab you in the back so they can climb over your corpse on their own way up. The fact that you 'saved the world' they'll find mildly amusing so long as they can use _you_ to jockey themselves into position, to be noticed along side of you, where they can then plunge the knife in and climb up to the next rung, leaving you discredited and abandoned as garbage in their wake."

Whitler stood back up and looked down with something akin to disgust. "You're a rich little Princess despite all your abilities to take out the mad scientists and all. You've never had to do the druge work, the skud work, the shit details that everyone _hates_ to do but _have_ to be done in order for the battle to be won. You've always had the first call on transportation, backup, intelligence, and services. You never had to ride in the hold of a troopship through a storm with two hundred people puking their guts out into the scuppers only to find where you got where you were going that Command changed their minds, the crisis was over and you were being ordered to some insect invested hole in the tropics and your still wearing your heavy winter gear."

Whitler shook her head again. "Well, your not going to rich bitch your way out of this Possible. You're going to work your skinny ass off for me. If for no other reason but you owe it to the other girls on this squad—"

Kim, who was literally shocked into complete silence and submission, was able to summon enough fragments of her brain to display surprise at this statement.

Whitler snorted angrily and shook her head with the same emotion. "This squad _never_ supported Rockwaller. And from the moment she was gone, they have been badgering me incessantly to get you back. AND! You apparently had no idea how close to some major trouble they as a group, with that platinum blond leading them as the Captain, along with your Afro girlfriend, came in your support earlier in the week."

Horror, followed by guilt came over Kim's face, which she immediately dropped in embarrassment.

"Get your bag," Whitler said with angry disgust, turning her back on the teen and heading back toward the office, "there's one more thing we have to take care of and the others are waiting."

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They were back in the main PE office, Kim following Whitler like a beaten puppy. Whitler turned with hands on hips and started without preamble, "with Rockwaller out of the picture and Lopez out with a broken ankle, the squad is reduced to six. That is not enough to do the more hazardous routines, as there is no girls at the wings to act as spotters should someone start to fall. And with the Junior and Kiddy squads all out with the creeping crud, we couldn't bring any of them up to fill in with one exception, that being the most junior girl from the Kiddy squad who just happened to miss out on the trip to Lowerton and therefore didn't get the crud. She's as green as hell but she's enthusiastic and physically, I think she's got what it takes." With that, Whitler turned and headed into her office as she continued with, "there's just one other problem and I want to get that out of the way before we go any farther."

Kim's brain had recovered enough to develop sudden wariness at this line, but it was too muddled to be able to think who she could have a possible problem with currently that Whitler thought is had to be confronted.

That is until she got through the door of Whitler's office and saw Sherrie Winer sitting in the chair (looking as scared as hell too).

Kim felt her face flame crimson red, felt her mental hackles rise as her own righteous indignation rose in her throat—

"Don't say a word Possible," _ordered_ Whitler, her pointed finger a hair from actually pushing in the end of Kim's nose. "Not a single solitary word."

"But—" Kim couldn't help herself.

"I said NOT A WORD," in a snapping, career military tone that _require_ instant obedience even if it came with Kim's eyes blazing at the frightened girl with hatred as she literally ground her teeth down in anger.

Whitler now stepped between the two young girls but was facing Kim and with a scathing look and tone, "Possible, you _might_ just give me the benefit of actually having some brains here. Do you really think I'm going to stage a confrontation like this at a time like this if I don't have a damn good reason? A reason like we desperately need this girl on the squad, almost as desperately as we need you coaching it. But I not blind and senile to think that you could forgive and forget what the rumor mill around the school is saying that she did. But I've had my own humble experience with rumor mills thank you. The ones before and during Desert Shield and Desert Storm would make yours here in high school look like pre kindergarten in comparison. So I went and _asked_ her what happened. And she _begged_ me to say what happened. And _you _might be surprised to hear it."

And with that, Whitler stood aside and waved a hand on the Winer.

Whom Kim immediately look at with complete and total _hatred_ under which the young freshman wilted, broke into tears and blurted, "but I didn't kill Rufus."

Kim's expression froze, for once in all too long, her brain functioning with its usual clarity and speed and the import of just what Whitler had said meshed with what Winer was now saying and she felt everything inside the locked-up rigid little world start to crack and shift again as she forced herself to stammer, "y—y—you didn't—?"

"NO," Winer wailed thought her tears although her look now turned angry as she realized that Kim was actually _listening _to her. "It took me all of a week once I got into Bonnie's posse to realize just what bad news she was but by then I was stuck. She had dirt on my older sister or so she said. But, the way she drank . . . and her temper when it came to you and Stoppable. I knew that no one was safe, not even his pet from her if she got really mad. So I rigged up a life size doll from one of those battery powered wiggling cat toys because Bonnie had talked about doing just what she was going to do along with several other horrible fates if she got really pissed off. But I told her that _I _was the one who kidnapped him, therefore I should be the one to do the dirty deed. She was so blitzed that she could care less. It was that toy that I took out of the locked storage trap in our garage floor. I never let her get close to it and I stuffed it right into the bag. Bonnie was so drunk she couldn't tell that it wasn't making noise like it should."

"THEN WHAT HAPPENED TO RUFUS?" Kim pleaded to the young girl, her own hope and concern shocking even herself.

"I DON'T KNOW! Sherrie Winer shouted back. "It was weeks later. I went back to feed him or at least try to because he hadn't been eating. I had been searching the Internet desperately trying to find out what was wrong. I was about ready to just make him appear back on your boyfriends front door—"

"What HAPPENED?"

"I said I _don't know!_" Winer said with a miserable and helpless look. "The trap door was locked. His cage door was locked. All the outside doors on the garage were locked and there was no sign of anyone breaking in but he had just _vanished_ from the cage."

Kim looked at Winer . . . and she was . . amazed and . aghast that the girl was genuinely upset over Rufus and had gone to all the trouble that she apparently had to safeguard him and all this time—

Kim's face flushed the color of her hair as her own shame washed through her. She now realized just what it was that Winer had been trying to do at the hospital the other night—

And she had wanted to kill her. She almost had if—something hadn't stopped her.

"Comon," said Whitler's gruff, unforgiving voice, "its time to load into the van."

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Once again Ron was on a set of crunches as he maneuvered out of his dad's car in the driveway. They were painful to use considering the pressure and tension they put on the wounds in his torso and arm, but his hip, lower back and leg could not be trusted to take his full weight as of yet and he refused a wheelchair.

His dad opened the front door for him and he slid through. Ron noted that his mom was not waiting for him (just like she had not accompanied her husband to the hospital to pick him up).

Ron sighed heavily and started through the house, knowing just where she would be.

"Hi mom."

His mother didn't even acknowledge him as she worked at her computer, designing digital artwork for her own fun and relaxation.

It was also her escape from reality, and where she came when she was mad and depressed.

"Hi mom," Ron tried a second time—

"Don't talk to me when I'm busy," she growled back at him.

Ron waited a beat, then said, "but there are some things I really need to talk to you about."

All at once, she turned to face him, her face hot, her eyes hinting at tears—"well, maybe I don't want to talk to my big, self sufficient, independently wealthy, almost adult son."

"Mom, don't be that way—"

And why shouldn't I be damnit! That Possible woman tears me apart, embarrasses me in front of everybody, you lecture me like a professor talking to a wayward student, and what happens in the end, the little tart runs out on you _again!_ And all the pain and grief and suffering and embarrassment I went through are for _nothing_!"

Ron sighed and shook his head. "Mom, you don't understand—

"I don't _want_ to understand," his mom blubbered as the tears actually started full flow.

Ron waited a moment, then hobbled in and was rewarded with his mom coming off of her chair to engulf him in a monumental, all encompassing embrace which Ron returned in kind.

Ron stroked her hair for a long time until her crying subsided and finally, in a shaking, whispered voice, she said, 'I'm so glad your home."

Ron kissed his moms hair. "It's good to be home mom."

She gave him a mighty squeeze before asking him, "what is it you wanted to talk about?'

"I wanted," Ron said carefully, holding his mom very tightly, "if it wont upset you too much, to talk to you about just why you did what you did at the hospital. It was so unlike you."

"I was _scared_ honey."

"Still mom—"

"And there was this nurse assigned to your room that started talking to me—"

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Saturday Morning—early. "Get UP Possible!"

Kim, her exhausted brain barely comprehending that she could be so _badly_ out of shape, struggled to get her feet back under her as her heart pounded in her chest, her lungs burned and gasped for air while the pain in her side pierced straight through her. She'd thought the run home from the hospital had almost killed her—

Whitler had them up at six, out running the trials above the camp and while the other girls where by no means having an easy time of it, they at least had been doing the physically demanding cheer routines up to this point as well as what ever other workouts they personally preferred where Kim had been doing nothing!

New pain lanced through Kim's knee and she realized that she had scraped it badly when she had gone down, how badly—

"Get you lazy ass going NOW Possible!" came the bark _right in her ear_ and Kim was off and struggling, but upright and pushing herself.

But she knew she couldn't last. It had been another night with no sleep. As she wasn't a cheerleader, or a 'real' coach, nor mascot or a camp worker, they had stuck her off in a small, isolated cabin by herself where she had spent the night in wide-eyed misery.

She'd relived the entire drive up, during which she had sat in the very back of the van, knowing that the tight, oppressive silence among the normally, exuberant fun filled girls who had been her cheer mates was totally her fault.

She'd tried to deal with the looks from them as they, after their arrival at the camp, looked about them and saw the other schools, laughing and frolicking with each other, already putting on impromptu displays in the parking lot, making the most of their bonded friendship and camaraderie, then how they looked at themselves and then to her, a bunch of sad sack losers with no spirit—

Or hope.

It tore Kim up inside as much as she was trying not to think about it. She was only here because she was supposed to be helping Whitler! So the morale thing, the spirit thing was Whitler's problem. If Whitler was stupid enough to demand that she come along and her presence brought that all crashing down—

But Kim could feel the old desire, the old competitive demand inside her. And she lay in bed pounding her fists against the frame until they became bruised and swollen in rage that Whitler was subjecting her to this _torture_.

But she actually welcomed these feelings. For they were a comfortable diversion from the struggle that she was having, trying not to have any thoughts about how she, was trying to not to have any feelings about how she, was not trying to cry and scream at herself about how she, was going to deal with the unbelievable black hole she had opened in the fabric that was Kim Possible with the concept of a life without Ron Stoppable.

She found herself falling again, sideways, off the trail, plowing face first into . . . something . . pain racking through her face, jaw, teeth, getting a mouthful of dirt, pine needles, some of which she started to swallow due to her heaving, oxygen starved lungs which sent her into a massive choking/coughing fit.

"Possible!" she heard Whitler's angry, annoyed voice above her. She ignored it as she felt faint, nauseated with the coughing, the inability to breathe while doing it.

"Well Possible, you've certainly failed in this aspect. Failed miserably I might add. We're not going to wait for you. We'll see you later after breakfast at opening ceremonies." And she heard Whitler call to the other girls and their sounds faded off into the distance.

The coughing fit slowing gave way to quiet sobs as her breathing recovered. _Failed. I failed?_ she thought miserably. _I don't fail. I've never failed at anything. Well . . . . . . . . no, that's not true. I failed in cooking and in trying to operate as an employee in a fast food restaurant. Two things that . . . Ron turned out to be much better at than I was. And then there was Justine with the science project. She was so much better at it that scientists had pictures of _her_. I was a failure next to her. I'm n—not—not perfect. I mean, I've always said that, I wasn't . . . but I think that deep inside . . . . I—I actually might have really believed that I . . . "_

Kim slowly pulled herself up to a sitting position, wiped her face with one hand, staring at the smeared blood and dirt that was there for the longest time. _No. I'm not perfect by any means. Despite all my abilities and talents. I've got a lot of faults. And its high time that I really start to think about just what they are, about how they effect me and just what they do to everybody else._ She dabbed at her lip again to confirm that it had actually stopped bleeding. _But, I have to be careful. I've been going crazy lately, bouncing back and forth between one extreme and another. I really have to try to find out what's _really_ good for me in the long run. And I think that luck and fate has placed me with just the person to give me a truly honest estimation of that, if she's willing to give a poor little rich girl the benefit of the doubt that she's really willing to listen._

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Sunday afternoon—late. Kim was standing next to Whitler as Tara, who had been named the new Captain by the other girls, was helping Sherrie with all the combined moves of the forward side-to-side half bent sweep.

"Girls got the potential," Whitler said.

Kim gave a sidelong look at the coach. "ah . . . which girl?"

Whitler half turned her head and those _damn_ eyes for hers grabbed Kim in her gaze. "Okay," the older woman said in a challenging tone, "you tell me. Look at the both of them. Did I mean the new Captain, or did I mean the new girl on the block. Or could I possibly have meant both of them? And if that is the case, what was it about each of them that would cause the comment?"

Kim gave her a perplex look. "Wouldn't it be the same for both that it was for them separately?"

Whitler would only give her a hint of an evil grin, "maybe, maybe not. Look at them. Figure it out."

Kim realized that she was being challenged again, but for the life of her, she could not figure out the purpose for this one, or what it was that she was suppose to really see in Sherrie or Tara. But she did as she was told, watching the two of them intently for the next few minutes with all of her powers of observation that she could manage.

Finally—"Well?" asked Whitler.

Kim's face was a frown of concentration. With slow, careful words, she ventured, "Sherrie is an extremely quick learner. Tara isn't having to repeat or correct something that she's shown her more than two or three times."

Whitler didn't move. A beat passed before in an off tone voice, she asked, "and so Watson, is that the only inference that you can draw?"

Kim blinked in surprise and looked at the coach a little startled. The coach didn't look over at her. She only said, "think through _everything_ I told you, and see if anything else comes to mind."

Kim looked back, a little put off now. What could it be that Whitler was driving at?

Again, "Anything else?"

Kim shook her head in frustration. "Well, you said that the two of them together might have something completely different. Maybe its that their both giving it all they've got." She made a helpless gesture. "I don't know what else it could be."

Whitler gave a sour snort before saying in a tired voice, "don't see anything involving the new Captain?"

Kim again blinked in surprise. "Tara?" She turned her head to give Whitler a strange look. "And just what do you see in Tara that I don't?"

This time the snort was louder and disgusted. "Take your comment about Winer being an extremely good learner and reduce it by fifty percent. Fill that open percentage with the fact that the new Captain is an excellent teacher and leader and you get the results you see. You just cant or won't see that one side of it."

Kim's eyes snapped back to the pair in surprise and disbelief, "Tara a teacher and leader? I don't believe—"

"As good as you were from what I heard," Whitler said with her low but carrying voice and Kim felt her blood run cold. Her head dipped to her chest as her eyes closed. Against a tightening throat, she croaked, "and just what is your point this time?"

"That you are completely blind to an enormous amount of talent and ability around you. I've heard stories; oh I've heard stories about how you ran _everything_ at school. All the committees, the dances, parties, societies, and their all going through a meltdown now due to your absence. But you know something else? A lot of them are getting back on their feet and are starting to get their jobs done without you because there are talented people in them that always deferred to you due to you reputation and a couple of other things you have."

"It's a problem with being an Alpha Female," Whitler sighed and Kim took a shocked breath as the term, her head snapping around to the coach in shock. "We're so use," Whitler went on, "to having our own way that it usually takes some kind of real nasty occurrence to open our eyes." Whitler's head swiveled towards Kim's and there was a look of long ago anger and disbelief on her face. "Mine wasn't much. It was the early days when uppity women in the service were still an abhorrence to the 'Good Ol' Boys' groups to be stomped on as hard as possible. Cost me a lot of sweat, pain, and blood until I was beaten down but I was. And it was years before I could come out of my shell again when the 'Boys' at last retired and new thoughts and ways started becoming more prevalent."

Whitler now looked away and her voice turned soft. "But yours _has_ been nasty hasn't it. Stripped you right down to the bone. But look what's happened. Other's have stepped into your place. You're not irreplaceable. The universe does _not_ revolve around you and will _not_ end if you are out of the picture."

But Whitler now bodily turned to Kim and spoke to her in a low, earnest voice. "But _that_ is not the point. The point is that for all this time, you have been doing all this work that you should have been having other, talented kids with the ability to do it _doing it!_ Because while you have the talent and the ability as well, you have two other things, the two things that I didn't mention before, that they don't have, that are what sets you apart from everybody else."

Kim was now looking at Whitler with her heart in her mouth, her hands and knees shaking. She once again felt as if this woman was peeling her very being with just her eyes but somehow, this time, she didn't mind. "Wh—what—?"

"You," said Whitler with absolute conviction, "are able to make people want to be around you, listen to what you have to say, have the ability to make people want to do anything and everything for you. That's charisma. And you are able to take people and direct them in ways that are simple and understandable, motivate them to follow those directions and send them out to complete them with the faith that those directions will get done. That is leadership. And you have both of those in spades."

Whitler then turned and pointed at Tara. "You are seeing the same leadership there that you have. But she doesn't have your charisma so she's hard to notice. What she has is her faith and determination. Different process, same outcome. But _you_ can't see it even when it's pointed out to you because you've been blind to _all_ that has been around you. You need to open your eyes and let everybody else have their chance."

Whitler turned back folding her arms in front of her, saying, "did you ever consider the _dis_service your doing everyone by doing all the work yourself? Yeah, maybe some jobs wont get done. But maybe someone would _might_ do them aren't because your _always_ doing them. And the fact that they, the others out there, aren't getting the experience of making their own decisions and taking their own responsibilities because of you. They might be in for some unpleasant experiences once they leave Middleton as well. Something to think about."

There was so much to think about whirling around inside of Kim's head that she thought she was going to faint. But . . . considering that they were talking about . . . her and her—problems, this would be a good time—

"Ah—ma'am. Ah—would it be, ah—possible to ah—maybe, ah—later that we have, ah—ah, talk"

Whitler's arm snapped up and she swore under her breath. "We're late for the second session. I _told_ you Possible to keep an eye on the _time!_"

"Sorry ma'am."

"There's no excuse!"

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Monday evening—almost closing time. Monique was looking at the spreadsheets as she stood behind the counter in her store. The evening after school had just dragged. They had had less than two hundred in sales and probably no more than fifty people in the store.

Which had done nothing to improve her mood, as she needed the customers and activity to keep her mind off of her own problems.

She looked up, looking out of the windows to the sparsely populated mall beyond. She hadn't even entertained any thoughts of trying to call her ex-boyfriend. She had cut that and she'd meant it. She was more than a little disappointed however that he hadn't called and tried to resurrect things. In fact she was downright hurt by it and that made her feel real funny.

Also, due to her fracture with Felix, she had lost contact with Ron so she had no clue how he was doing since the latest disaster with Kim and she was more than a little concerned. She had about made up her mind to bite the bullet and call him tonight after work to check up on him.

Monique frowned. Something was tugging at her senses and she couldn't quite place . . . .

There was a man across the mall . . . watching the store. No . . . . watching her.

A white guy, very handsome one at that, with short blond hair, a square, maturely boyish face for his age. Monique came around from behind the counter. She knew that he really couldn't see her because of the webbing on the window display, but she was sure that he was watching her. Why would he be doing that? He had to be at least forty. And even if he was that good looking why—

She then got to the edge of the jackets display where she could get a better look at him from the shoulders down—

He was dressed in a _sharp_ expensive suit. All black. And it instantly reminded her of a certain woman at school exactly a week ago. Just what was going on?

"Monique?"

Monique's head came around to see Jasmine coming out of the back. Her assistant had a blank, frightened look on her face.

"What—what's the matter?" Monique asked.

"You need to come into the back office."

Apprehension filled Monique. Words unbidden came back to her. _When your time comes, just go along with the flow. Don't fight, don't run. Things will all work out in the end._

Monique's head snapped around to look out the window. Despite the fact that there should be no way in hell for the Man in Black to see her movements or know that she was at that moment looking at him—

His eyes were looking right at her and he nodded his head at her. _Things will all work out in the end._

Monique's mouth went dry. She felt her legs go weak. But as she turned back toward the door to the rear, she kept her head up. She would do the memory of her friends Kim and Ron when they were at their best proud—

And she silently screamed for Felix—

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Tuesday—after dinner. Ron worked his way up the driveway, his face worried, unsure, a little hesitant for he had enough problems of his own to try to get involved with someone else's but—

He pushed the bell besides the door and waited, leaning on the cane that he had graduated back to as his muscles rapidly knitted. He had to keep swallowing as he was nervous. He _knew_ that he had to do this and yet—

The door opened and Felix's mom looked out through the crack. "Oh Ron," she said with a very grateful tone. "It's so good to see you," she continued as she opened the door fully and came out to greet him with a full but gentle hug.

In a few minutes, Ron was pushing open the door into Felix's room. His best friend was reclining on the bed, gloomily watching the TV hung from the ceiling above the end of his bed. He gave a glance at Ron as the door opened, and then turned back to the TV.

"Hey," Ron said quietly from just inside the door.

"Hey," Felix replied softly, still without looking at him.

Ron waited a moment then came a step further into the room. "How are you doing?"

A shrug was the total reply.

Ron dropped his head a little, "look, I know it doesn't help, but if there's anything I can do?"

Felix closed his eyes in pain. He had to take a deep breath that might have shuddered just a little before he said, "there's nothing you or anyone can do Ron. We don't know why what happened happened. But in the end it really doesn't matter. Monique had already made her feelings really plain to me. And—"

And now Felix turned to look at Ron. And Ron could see for the first time just how truly and deeply his best friend was hurt and wounded by what had occurred. "And it made me realize that if she had that much trouble with what I was trying to do with Bonnie. If it went so much against her feelings, her opinions and the ways she thought the world should be, that the fact is that we _had_ no future together. Because there would have been other situations, other people that I would have encountered where the same thing would have happened over and over again and it would have made us both miserable." His eyes kind of wandered off. "So its really better this way I guess."

Ron looked at his friend. And he didn't want to say it. He hated himself for it. But the hurt, the pain in Felix's eyes was too great for the lie to stand. And there were way too may lies and misunderstanding out among his friends and those he loved right now.

"That's a cop out Felix." Ron winced inwardly as his friends gaze came up to nail him but he didn't back down. "Oh," he continued in the same gentle tone, "it has a lot of truth to it. But it's not the main reason why you're not trying to go see her. And it's certainly not the reason why you're so upset at yourself over all this."

Felix's face screwed up with a combination of wonder and anger as his mouth came open—

Ron held up a restraining hand. "Start with the phone conversation we had last night. I got a picture of a Felix Renton absolutely torn up over what has happened to Monique. Now, with everything your mom just told me about what you've been mumbling to yourself all day today as you moped around the house, too 'sick' to go to school, all of it sounding as if your 'convincing' yourself that you never loved her in the first place—" Ron ended there with an eyebrow raised in question.

Felix had to look away from Ron.

"What's the true story Bud?"

Felix told him.

And Ron listened.

And Ron finally said, "wow man, I can see where you're coming from. And frankly, I don't . . . I really wouldn't have a clue how Monique would react to that." Ron shook his head. "But the fact of the matter is dude, is that I would bet, knowing her the way I do, that she is in _desperate_ need of you right now man. Because like Kim, her control has been taken away. And she needs a life preserver that she can grab onto to hold onto for dear life."

Ron now looked up, looking directly into Felix's eyes. "And dude, that life preserver is you man. Straight up. And the quicker, the better. Because she's gotta be flailing dude."

Felix was absolutely motionless for more than a minute. Then . . . as if it was the most difficult decision he ever made, he slowly nodded his head.

And Ron nodded back in agreement.

Felix sat up on the bed, a huge weight seemingly lifted from his person. "I'll call her mom and see how soon I can go over with her cause I can't go in by myself. She's gonna think I'm a jerk thou cause she called me earlier asking me if I wanted to go earlier today and I said no."

Ron smiled. "Just tell her that you were 'sick'."

Felix actually has a touch of a smile at that.

The smile dropped from Ron's face as he asked, "speaking of Bonnie, what's going on there?"

Amazement now flashed into Felix's face. "Dude, I don't know _what_ happened but it's been weird. She's been talking up a storm. She's actually been taking her meds on her own and when I called the hospital today, they said that she actually talked to the docs for the first time on her own. And it sounds like she's not trying to BS them. But she's also demanding that something be done about her mom and sisters and the hospital is looking into it."

A though seemed to cross Felix's eyes and he had to stop—even as his eyes suddenly went to Ron with the most curious and incredulous expression. After a moment, Felix asked in a very _careful_ voice, "I just remembered something. Bonnie was rambling on at one point about her dreams and she talked about you and a bunch of Ninja Guardians being in one. She said that you had this ghost sword and she kept rubbing this _scratch_ on her neck that she got somehow. I didn't think much about it until one of the staff asked me if _I_ had any idea how she got that scratch. Her nails have been filed down totally, she doesn't have access to anything that could do it and it's an absolute _straight line_ like it was caused by a knife point or something." Now it was Felix's turn to end the sentence with an eyebrow raised in question.

Ron just shrugged. "Maybe someone got her with a sharp flower petal."

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Wednesday—mid day. "Kim," Tara said in a low, tight voice with an angry expression and apprehension filling her eyes, "don't push it like this. That was the way it was done when you were Captain. I want to do it my own way—"

Kim gritted her teeth as her eyes closed in frustration, her mind flashing back to arguments with Rachel Mayhew in the dance committee and everybody else over the last couple of months who just wouldn't go along with her program. She fought to remember what Whitler had said about staying open to other people's abilities and talents—

_But damnit! I'm _right_ about this. It got us to the regionals two years in a row. That alone should show that I'm right!_ Kim opened her eyes again, seeing the other squad members in the background, clustered together with looks of dread and dismay—

Kim then took a quick glance over her shoulder. As she thought, Whitler was standing way back with what could only be described as a smug look on her face, forcing Kim to have to resole this by herself one way or another. She turned back to Tara and _tried_ not to sound testy.

"My only concern is that it isn't upbeat enough. It doesn't get you and the girls and the audiences heads bobbing just through the sheer spontaneous rhythm of it all." You _have_ to grab them real quick and hold them during the entire piece."

Tara shook her head sadly. "I _know_ that. But _we_ don't have the girls to pull it off. You and Bonnie were our two lightest and strongest leapers, climbers, and flyers. And as talented and as quick as Sherrie is, she's not strong enough to take a major place in such and let one of the other girls act as a spotter, nor would she really be a good spotter herself due to her lack of size and strength. So we _have_ to go with something a little more conservative. And if we have to do that, we have to do _something_ else with the piece for it to be noticed."

Kim started to open her mouth but then she closed it again, forcing herself to _listen_ to what Tara was saying. _She's the Captain. And she's the one who's actually been out there with them practicing, throwing each other around. She's in a lot better position to know the strengths and weaknesses right now than I am. As much as it feels weird, I just might have to admit—_

"Kim?"

Kim looked up and she realized that she had been looking down in thought—

Tara's face filled her with misgivings, dismay, as _it_ was filled with uncertainty, pure nerves, desperation, the desperation driving a need that also filled the blonds voice when she practically begged, "you—you could always come back, come back to the squad. You could be Captain again. Then we would have someone to get the job done both ways."

Kim felt her face fall, her shoulders slump, her eyes went wide—

"Please," Tara whispered, the desperation plain, "all the girls _want_ you too. We _need_ you!"

An animal fear, full-fledged panic rose in Kim, shutting out all other thoughts and feelings as she turned around and started to walk away, Tara's calls and pleas bouncing off now deaf ears. She had no idea where she was going or what she was going to do but she was suddenly right back to square one, screaming and crying into her sheets in the early morning hours after what she had done to Ron—

A hand _violently_ grabbed her **HARD** by the upper arm and **_SHOOK_** her, snapping her head around, breaking the spell as she cried out in pain—

"Just where in the _hell_ do you think your going Possible? Your Team Captain was talking to you and you just _walk away?_"

"Ms Whitler . . . _please!_" she heard Tara's voice somewhere.

"Get back to your squad Captain," Whitler's voice was level but firm. "I'll handle this."

Kim's other hand came up to rub her sore neck as she was rather roughly tugged by her captured one somewhere—

"Hey," Kim whined. "Hey, would you—would . . . that _hurts_—would you stop! L—let . . . let my—let GO of me!" as at last her mind/vision cleared somewhat and she pulled against the force pulling her.

She managed to break loose, pure fighting instant causing her to whirl around and set herself to face—

Whitler who was facing her full on, but with her hands raised to ward off any attack and to calm any outburst.

"Easy Possible, easy," came the quietest, most soothing voice. Kim didn't believe the hard looking woman was capable of talking like that. But it had the desired effect and her hackles lowered.

But the reasons that triggered them swelled up again and tears burst from the teen's eyes.

"Ms Whitler," Kim erupted. "I _need_ help. I'm so confused. I don't know what to do. I need someone to talk to about what's going on in my head. Someone who can try to make sense of it all for me. Help me please! I know you can help me. PLEASE!" And Kim suddenly came forward, falling into the older woman who had to bodily catch the sobbing teen.

Kim wasn't sure how long she cried. But she finally became aware that the older woman was in fact holding her tightly. The teen, slowly controlling her tears and sobs, pulled her face away from the wet material of the coaches shirt and looked up into the face before her. A sob rose inside her for Whitler's face was hard. But there was understanding and compassion in her eyes as well as pity and encouragement in her voice when she told the teen—

"I can't help you—yet. For as you said it, you want someone to make sense of it all for you. _I_ can't do that for you. You _have_ to make sense of it in and for yourself first. Until that happens, no one _can_ help you. So you have to go off somewhere and get this all straight, once and for all. And only you can do that. And until you do, you will know no peace and you will have no peace, be it of mind or soul or spirit."

Then, ever so gently, Whitler pushed Kim away from her, stepping back, opening the distance between then once they were separated. "So," the coach continued with a firm, knowing voice, "go off somewhere and get your mind squared. And take these thoughts and pieces of advice with you. Up till this point, you have been working with emotions at their rawest. Banish those, but don't banish emotion. Cold, logical, impersonal thought is as deadly to a person in your situation as wildly flailing feelings. Think as you would if your emotions were such on a normal day in a normal place in a normal way. Then follow those feelings for all they are worth."

Whitler then extended a hand to indicate the two of them both under one idea. "We are both Alpha Females, perfectionists driven to succeed at whatever we do. Overachievers with little or no concept of failure or second best. But we also have some major faults, some of which we've already talked about. Others I'm sure will come to your mind. But the point I want to make is our faults are _still_ _a part of us_ and should be examined as such. A fault is not necessary a bad thing if it isn't dangerous, malicious or consistently annoying, insulting or abrasive to other people. They might need to be curbed or controlled, but they need not be done away with."

And finally," and now Whitler's voice got _real_ soft, "consider when your thinking about all this that your only seventeen, that your life is still building despite all the great work that you have done and that the rest of it is still ahead of you, whatever you decide to do with it. Consider that _very_ carefully before you think about never having a friend again or locking yourself away in a convent or something. With your passion and your fire, I think that would be the greatest crime you could possibly commit."

And with that, Whitler turned and walked away, leaving a suddenly startled Kim standing there, frightened, more than a little lost, wondering just how she was suppose to look for a path that at this point, she couldn't see.


	16. The Education of Kim Possible P2 Heeding

_It is insane, it is all insane. The world is not anything like what I thought is should_—

Kim had no clear idea that she even 'went off somewhere' as her head, hell, her whole being was reeling. Couldn't the stupid woman _understand_ that she was wounded and injured and hurt and broken and lost and helpless and alone and frightened and scared and afraid and confused and bewildered and frustrated and unwanted and uncared for and unloved—

. . . . . . . . . . . . . no

. . . . . . no—

NO! **_THAT_** was not true—

She—

She was . . . loved. Her—her parents—. They—they l—lo—they loved her! They _loved_ her! Kim knew that to the very marrow of her bones. Yes, her dad might be an occasionally stifling, ridiculously backwards, square, and overly protective . . . Neanderthal of a dad, but he could come through when the chips were down, like that day on the mountain slopes with DNA Amy or getting Ron's bike rigged during the Diablo mess. And her mom—

She was her mother's daughter. Kim was surprised that mom hadn't belted her for the way she had been acting. The fact that mom had been holding her temper, giving her space, staying home when the whole country was screaming for her talent spoke _volumes_.

Her 'rents loved her! And had always given her unwavering support in anything she wished to try. Including going to Tokyo on a school night.

And there was other love in her life. Her Nana _loved_ her! Hell, she knew that even in their own evil way, the tweebs _loved_ her. And there was Uncle Slim and Joss! And beyond that—

Kim clamped down _hard_ on a choked cry as the black abyss of Ron Stoppable opened before her. The blackness swelled up and around her, threatening to reduce her to a huddled, shivering mass of quivering flesh. And it was all her own doing! She had wrecked what they had! She had torn apart the unbreakable bond that they had forged since pre-k. And all because of her overwhelming need to be the Alpha Female, have dominant control and always have her own way. It was all her own—

It took all her martial arts training and focus to move beyond that sucking wound in her soul and even then, it was such a trial, such a battle, it seemed that when she at last opened her eyes and could once again 'see', she was so far up in the hills beyond the lake that only one corner of it was visible.

Setting her shoulders, Kim tried to once again focus her thoughts on her life—

And beyond . . . him—

The others that meant so much to her?

Crystal? Liz? Hope? Marcella? Jessica?

Tara? . . .

Just members of the cheerleaders squad or . . . friends?

Kim's Nana was in her early eighties. Kim had every intention of living as long if not longer. The very idea, when stripped of all the emotional overtones, of that kind of a span of life . . . _without friends._

Monique?

That actually caused Kim to drop her face into her hands and—

She walked a while.

Upon much later reflection, Kim figured that she had never walked, just plain walked, in the woods before.

Sure, she had been in them at times other than missions, but in those, she and her family had always been walking _through_ the woods to get someplace else and had paid little or no attention to the place itself.

Now, with her main focus inward, as she continued to think things though, as she continued to confront and tackle the issues within her with much of her old determination, it was again with later reflection, that the quiet, settling landscape through which she wandered as her thoughts and ponderings came to the fore was one of the main reasons for their success.

And while there was many facets to it, it was mainly the sounds, such as the wind in a full head of pine needles, the smells, like the sudden scent of certain tree bark or flowers, or sensations, such as the sun on her skin if she walked out into a sudden clearing after a long period in the shade, that came to her and acted like a balm on her torn, wounded psych unlike any she had ever known. For at those moments when her concentration was broken, her other senses came into play, and she saw forest animals or she her awareness expanded to take in the grandeur of a scenic view or narrowed on a small, delightful encounter between mother and baby birds.

So; much came and was resolved that afternoon and evening. And the forest and hills helped with many. Things such as how she, Kim Possible, she who had saved the world how many times was small and insignificant. And yet she was herself. And she was special, not because she could do anything, but because she had friends, she had family that wanted, needed, and loved her. But she was also special because she was HER. The Girl Who Could Do Anything. But it was as much a burden and a responsibility as it was a challenge and a talent. It was not to be treated or taken lightly but not flaunted or paraded either. Not that she had done the later (except within her own mind). But she had allowed others to do it for her and had allowed them to build her up in the eyes of the world.

_I had to be out of my mind,_ she berated herself as the tears flowed._ I had to be MAD! INSANE! To even think—_

Her head came up, and the eyes gazed out, filled with tears but their emerald sheen blazing once more.

_I _was_ insane. I wasn't even thinking. I wasn't even reacting. I was just panicking, flailing, f,f,f,f—_ and with this thought her head dipped in shame, _failing. Failing myself, my parents, my friends_

She absently wiped her dripping nose with the back of one hand. _Oh God, please forgive me. I thought I was so egotistic and shallow when I realized how I had been treating Ron all these years. But to think that I actually thought that I ever _deserved, _no, not even that, that I thought that I had an _inalienable right_ to the special treatment and considerations that the town, the school, Barkin and the teachers, all the activities and groups let alone the other kids gave to me. And please God, Thank You for Ms Whitler, for opening my eyes to just how selfish, self-centered, and self-serving I was in those thoughts and actions._

Kim then managed a crooked smile. _And no, I wont crazily bounce back to the other opposite extreme in repressive guilt. I _know_ that in many ways I am special. Whitler has helped me in that as well. She's shown me where I'm very special as well as where I'm as big a failure as anybody else can be. But most importantly, she's shown me where others can be just as special as me but using different methods. Which means that in those places, I really _am_ just a normal girl._

Yes, Kim reaffirmed in her own eyes and heart that all she _really_ wanted to be was a regular girl. Saving the world was just a sideline. She would in the future have to make sure that that was how _she_ wanted it to go down.

For she did love all her 'girl' stuff. Her activities, clubs, committees, dances, and functions. And she loved them for the friends they gave her and the fun they had preparing the projects and seeing the end results (and of course she _loved_ to dance). But while she had relished being _the_ pivotal point of all Middleton high, she now saw more clearly the disadvantages. If she delegated more she actually _could_ have time to learn how to sew.

Kim came to several other realizations. The most important being that she had had no idea what had been happening to her over the past couple of months, but she did realize what had happened to HER! She had become complacent. While Bonnie might have been the Queen of Middleton High, she had truly been the Princess, the more sweeter, kinder, more benevolent, more loved and respected, and more pampered, well treated and taken cared of one. And yes, she arrogantly admitted that she had grown to expect this. Rudely believing it to be 'the natural and normal order of things'.

_Alpha Female,_ she said grimly to herself,_ another name for a Controlling Manipulative Bitch. And who do we know who's best known as one of those. But unlike Bonnie, I was the 'Good Girl' who could do no wrong and would never hurt a soul. Well, how many feelings did I hurt by ram rodding over someone's idea or concept or by ignoring what they had to say completely. And I never even knew that I was doing it. And what's sick about is that, it isn't that no one else had the guts to tell me, but that no one thought it was necessary _to _tell to me because _why_, why do it when I _had_ control, it _worked_ and it seemed that everything I did always came out best. Again Whitler was right. It took a total outsider to see it for what it really was._

So when the bottom started to fall out of her support with the scandal sheets sex stories, she had blithely gone ahead, not believing for a second that anything would change for her—

Boy had she been wrong.

And even as the walls came tumbling down, she had refused to believe it or even acknowledge it. So she has never even began to start to fight back. No, she just mutely, numbly, passively, let it all happen.

Because no one would allow the Princess to be dethroned.

Well now she knew better. And she knew something else—

She didn't like being a Princess. How could she when that was Shego's favorite nickname for her? So she never intended to be one again.

_And my friends—_ and now the smile returned. _They are just that. And I am theirs. And if I delegate and task other people that will mean that I have more time to spend with them. And that would be _wonderful._ In fact—_

But she did intend to be other things, a lot of other things.

Kim shivered and rubbed her arms. She came to realize that the sun had gone down. She had been gone that long. _Well, I'd say it was worth it. I think I've finally got my head on square. I've still got problems including what am I going to do about a very big one whose last name is Stoppable. But I think I'm on the road to recovery as long as I can keep my feet under me. And in order to do that, what I need—_

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Kim was also appalled by just how far she had gone for it was after supper, indeed, after evening campfire before she got back to Wannaweep and she was _feeling_ feet, legs, thighs and hips that had been way too long without that kind of trek (and had already been protesting from the runs that Whitler was leading them on). She went to the lone cabin, the place where she had gotten sleep only through the necessity of sheer exhaustion to get what she wanted before—

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Tara put the pencil down on the desk and squeezed the bridge of her nose tight. This allowed her to close her eyes so that it looked like they were fatigued. The fact was that she was so close to losing it from frustration, helplessness and fear of failure that it was the only way she could wipe the traces of moisture out of her eyes without the other girls seeing.

Tara had never designed cheer routines before. And the camp had strict rules for routines developed during the week least a school try to come up with something that was a copy of something from another squad.

But they had only two full days left to get their act together or they weren't even going to _go_ to State. And from what they were seeing from the other schools, unless she pulled a half dozen rabbits out of her pom poms, they didn't stand a chance. Whitler was giving her all the encouragement and support that she could, but was frankly a novice to cheering as well so it seemed as if the whole responsibility was resting on Tara's shoulders.

But she was praying _hard_ for the strength to get through it. Now all she needed was the ideas and the skill—

Tara took a glance back at the rest of the girls. One could often hear the raucous noise coming out of many of the other surrounding cabins. But in the one belonging to the Middleton Mad Dogs, there hadn't been a single cheer or peel of laughter all week.

Hope was sitting on her bunk absently brushing her long black hair while Jessica was listlessly filing her nails on the floor in front of her. Liz was tucked away in a corner, staring off into space, plugged into her music. Marcella was on her top bunk writing diligently in her journal. Crystal was out in the center of the floor with Sherrie, helping the new girl with stretches to try and relieve some of the stress from overworked muscles.

There was a knock at the door—

With the exception of Liz, all heads swiveled as did hers when she realized that something had caught everybody else's attention.

"What—?" she asked as she pulled off her earphones.

There was another knock. All the girls looked to Tara.

The blond Captain, butterflies suddenly racing through her stomach as visions of a certain green, mucky, mutant, boy amphibian came unbidden to her mind. She came around off the chair and padded across the floor to the door—

"Y—y—yes?"

"Tara?" came the soft, hesitant but clearly recognizable voice—

Tara, even as her heart leapt into her throat, snatched the door open to see Kim standing on the threshold, holding her knapsack in front of her as if a shield, a face full of naked apprehension, a look of pleading directed at the blond.

"Kim," Tara breathed.

The redhead managed a trembling smile. "I got lonely for my friends."

"Well your friends are here!" shrieked Tara as she flung the door wide and literally jumped on Kim as all the other Middleton Mad Dog Cheerleaders gave their first real cheer of Wannaweep cheer camp.

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Kim seemed to have aged thirty years. And though it was obvious that the hesitation and the embarrassment would be with her for a while, the immediate warmth and welcome and lack of questions and judgment on the part of five girls whom she suddenly realized were closer to her than she had ever realized, did much to melt those years away. Twice Kim was brought to actual sobs, the first was when Tara, acting every inch the Captain in charge, sent Jessica and Crystal over to retrieve Kim's sleeping bag and other gear to get her fully moved in with 'her squad'.

The other was when Kim was literally pressed to the middle of the floor, surrounded by her friends and taken in hand, literally with Jessica and Liz each taking one and working on the torn, neglected nails, being gentle as to the still multiple, barely healed wounds on her fingers, hands and forearms from her rampage of a week before (and treating the wounds as if they were in fact no big). Hope and Marcella meanwhile started on Kim's ratted, frayed, abused and ignored hair, their expert hands (only Tara's hip length fall was longer that Hope's) working what magic they could outside of a shower where the proper conditioners and oils could be used.

Tara was careful to keep the conversation on subjects that could be handled and the girls responded in kind. Kim sensed and appreciated this and it made her feel all the more near to them. How could she have not known that they cared this much.

Deep inside, she had felt the warmth in her soul relight and start to glow again. She tried not to think about it, for there was that black hole waiting there in the center to suck the fire right out again. But she was hoping, she was praying, she might even ask Tara to pray with her, that somehow, she could find the strength to—

"Okay Mad Dogs," Tara called bounding to her feet. "It's late. We need sleep if we're gonna get out there tomorrow and kick some butt."

The girls, Kim included cheered and clapped, hugged each other and started getting ready for bed.

Kim winced hard as she got up, the muscles in her calves and feet violently protesting her treatment of them. She looked down in sudden surprise at a soft touch on her still bandaged forearm to see Tara's hand there. Kim looked up to see a serious, nervous, questioning look in the blond girls eyes. A nod of Tara's head toward the door indicated what she wanted. Kim nodded, her stomach suddenly knotting as this was a side of Tara she had never seen before and she definitely did not know what to expect—

And she wanted no more surprised or bad news.

Outside, Tara, with her arms wrapped protectively around her middle turned back to Kim, her voice clearly nervous, hesitant and worried, "Kim, I'm so glad you decided to come back but—"

Kim held up a hand to try and comfort her friend, "Tara, please. Don't worry about—"

"Kim, let me finish," the blond said with force that caused Kim to blink with surprise. She grasped her hands in front of her and nodded to Tara that she was ready to listen.

Tara had to hesitate as if Kim's interruption had stalled her thoughts. She seemed to flounder for a moment, then, "there's something that you need to know before we try to pick up were we left off or move forward with a working relationship within the squad. Because that's all we've really had, was the relationship in the squad. I fell in love with your ex-boyfriend and that in itself normally causes all kinds of barriers for girls our age wither we know it or not, wither we admit it or not."

Tara's look at Kim demanded acknowledgement of that statement and Kim, with her newfound understanding, took a moment to consider it and after another moment, reluctantly had to nod in agreement.

Tara nodded at Kim's nod and added, "but I think that we're both okay enough to say that this wont be a problem?"

Kim felt a stab of blackness as she realized that Tara was avoiding mentioning their current status of 'boyfriends' but was having to address it for the reason she had already said. She was amazed at Tara's tact and bravery at doing so and she could only answer, "I saw how you supported Josh when he had to approach me with the unpleasant news that he had been confronted by the first scandal sheet reporter. Some girls would have flailed their boyfriends alive at that kind of revelation. And then to let him come to _me_ and to stand there and watch it happen. Tara, I have all the respect in the world for you."

And to her surprise, Tara actually seemed to pale and look grimmer at this reply. Kim sucked in a breath and asked, stepping forward, "Tara, what's wrong?"

Tara held up a warning hand and said flatly, "you may not respect me when I say what I have to tell you Kim. And I want it out front right now because I don't want you to think that I was hiding something or trying to stab you in the back somehow."

Kim stopped and felt her insides turn cold. _Not again. Not already. Not from Tara. What could possibly have happened to her—_

Tara sucked in a choked swallow and then in a tight, frightened voice, said, "you know that it was Felix and I that found Bonnie and stopped her from killing herself. That was all my doing. Bonnie was my best friend forever up to middle school when things started to fall apart in her family and she started to turn bad."

Tara's hand came up and rubbed at misting eyes. "I'm sorry Kim, but I've made it my mission to try and save Bonnie. God has demanded this of me. Somehow, with HIS help, I'm going to turn her around, get her back on her feet, get her head on straight, and be her best friend again."

And now Tara's head came up and she looked with a sharp, piercing look right into Kim's eyes. "And if being her best friend makes me your enemy, we need to address that right now so we can still work together effectively for the benefit of this squad."

Kim felt as if she had been hit with an ax between the eyes. Tara and Bonnie? Friends? Kim had know that Tara and Felix had found Bonnie and had stopped her but Tara had done it on purpose?

Kim threw her face down into both hands as she felt her psych rupture again with another total unexpected unknown. She couldn't believe—

_NO! STOP! CALM! Not So The Drama! Now is NOT the time to lose it. FOCUS! Get it together!_

Tara stood for what seemed forever, her own insides locked solid in with fear of so many things that she couldn't identify them all. She watched the shivering redhead holding her face in her hands before her, not sure if she should step in to comfort or turn around and start running for her life, not sure if she had just ruined Kim's return and therefore her life and therefore the squads and the schools and everything else. Tara found herself silently praying—

And waiting.

Abruptly, Kim pulled her head up with a sob, turning half away, breathing deeply, almost panting as she stared into the night sky.

Suddenly, in a harsh voice accompanied by a sharp pointing finger, "Tara, pick up that fire bucket and hold it, by just the tips of your fingers out as far away from you as you can."

Trembling, the blond girl did as she was told. No sooner had she extended the empty metal bucket out as far as she could, wincing as she could barely hold onto the cold metal with her fingertips—

'KKYYYIIIIIIIIII!" And Tara jerked back as Kim in the darkness, became a blur of motion taking to the air, there was a metallic 'smack' and moments later, the impact of the bucket could be heard some distance away among the trees.

Tara hadn't registered anything more as she was now huddled face into the nearest large tree, praying for her life. She managed not to whimper when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder, but it was gentle, as was the crying voice that called her name, "Tara, its okay now."

Tara came around and Kim slowly pulled her up and they came together into an embrace that came together tighter as both sobbed in reaction and relief.

Kim finally was able to say, "I'm sorry Tara, but I had to do something to let it out. I haven't even begun to address my feelings toward Bonnie but you can only imagine what they are. And that bucket, it was your head, more or less. And it was your head for everything you're trying to do _for_ her. But this hug, and these tears, are for everything that you have done and are doing for _me_ and while I completely understand you need and your faith toward Rockwaller, I—I'll just leave it at that for now. But I need you and want you and appreciate you as a friend as well and I think that at last I'm mature enough to handle that you can be friends to us both because that's just the kind of wonderful, faith-filled person that you are and I envy you for it. The world would be a much better place if everyone was like you."

"Oh Kim," Tara choked back at her hugging the redhead tighter. "Thank you, thank you. It's so good to have you back. It'll be so good to have you back as Captain."

Tara abruptly felt herself being gently being pushed back. "No!" Kim said firmly. "Not allowed Captain. You started this, you're going to finish it."

"But Kim," Tara wailed with sudden desperation, "I'm floundering, I'm lost, I don't have a clue?"

Kim gave her a shake. "I didn't say I wouldn't help silly. But I've been watching you for the past week and you've been doing fine. I should know. But your going to do the work while I point you in the right direction, help you over the rough spots and pick up the slack where you need an assistant. WE can do this Tara, even if we have only two days."

Tara stood there blinking, amazed to hear the old determination, self-confidence and drive that she hadn't heard in that voice in far too long. Tara actually choked up and could barely say, "its so good to have you back Kim."

And a certain voice was equally choked when it replied, "it's good to be back girlfriend."

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Whitler picked at the bacon in her teeth as she sat alone in the adults dining area after finishing her breakfast. As a total newcomer, she had no contact with any of the other coaches prior to the week and although she was on a friendly enough basis with her three bunkmates, they all had squads that were charging ahead with final plans and practices so they were at it early. After all, there was just today and tomorrow to get ready, and her girls—

But at that thought, a sly smile came to the corner of her mouth. She had of course been monitoring her charges closely as only a lifelong career of care and feeding of enlisted personnel could so she was aware of what had happened last night. Now she was curious just what shape or form the next move would—

"Ms Whitler?"

Her faithful right eyebrow crawl right up to her hairline at the voice behind her. Hesitant, just a tad unsure, but backed by the determination that she had always expected _should_ be there and frankly, it was about time.

Whitler turned about in her chair, her face carefully neutral. _Good Lord_, the coach snorted to herself at the sight that greeted her, _she looks like she's ready to rip it up right here._

For there stood Kim Possible with the assembled Middleton Cheerleaders in rank behind her. The teen was wearing a slightly ill fitting cheer uniform, borrowed piecemeal obviously from all the other girls. Her hair was clean and combed and actually something like the legendary lions mane Whitler had seen at the beginning of the year rather than the limp ragged mop that it had been of late. The coach also noticed that all the wrappings where gone from the teens hands and arms, replaces with a hoard of Band-Aids and small gauze pads.

Whitler allowed the raised eyebrow to stand and be her reply.

It took Possible only a couple of beats for this to register and—

"I want to try out for any open spots on the Middleton Cheer Squad."

Now Whitler allowed the other eyebrow to go up. After a moment she dropped her eyes and pulled out the toothpick which she studied studiously for several moments before saying, "your out of shape, your out of practice, your arms and hands are a mess and your suppose to be _my_ assistant." Whitler's eyes then came back up and she skewered Possible with her hardest look. "I think you'd be a bigger liability to the squad than an asset at this point Possible. Do you think different?"

And the teens head came down just enough for the narrowing of those emerald eyes to have their maximum effect as the teens voice came out quiet but hard, "and you ma'am don't know _shit_ about cheerleading or cheerleaders especially," and a deadly smile came to the redheaded girls face, "cheerleaders who have been known to be able to do anything."

Whitler's face hadn't budged a muscle, an eye didn't flicker. Their gazed remained locked, a stream of fired almost visible between them. The coach finally growled, "you really think—"

"It's—no—big—ma'am," was the FLAT reply that was as much a challenge as it was confirmation.

Whitler nodded, heaving herself up out of the chair. "Outside then," and only then did the coach allow herself a tiny little smile (but only on the inside).

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Just as a wall separated her from the outside world, Monique, dressed in the plain denims worn, felt the wall that separated her from the two that sat across from her at the picnic table in the visitor's area of the Juvenile Detention Facility.

And the wall was there for different reasons.

Her mother . . . it was there because of the disbelief that her daughter could have been involved in such an act as too end up in a place such as this. Her mother had spoken to the District Attorney, had spoken to Monique's Defense Attorney. The case was so tight, the evidence so convincing that only a plea bargain was possible. The fact that her daughter, who had never lied before, vehemently denied every single fact and facet—

And the other wall?

Monique knew that it was of her own making. And across the void she saw Felix and she saw his pain and something else. His fear. And she knew what it was. And she knew that he didn't know that she knew it and so much of it was her own fault.

It was time—

"Mom," Monique asked with a strained smile. "Can Felix and I be alone for a few minutes?"

Her mother, damp eyed, nodded, reached out to touch her hand. She got up and gently touched Felix on the shoulder giving him a smile of encouragement. Monique's mother then walked away without a look back.

"Fel—"

"Mon—"

They both managed an almost giggle.

She dropped her head then brought it back up with tears streaming from her eyes, saying in a choked whisper, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," and their hands were scrambling to come together in a double clutch on the table that was so tight that their knuckles were turning white—

They didn't care.

"Don't be—," he started.

"No," she put in shaking her head. "I was wrong and I want to admit it to you . . . along with some other things."

His eyes grew a little larger as he looked on her but he waited for her to speak.

"Has my mom or anyone told you exactly what it is that I supposedly did?"

Felix swallowed hard before answering. "Only that you 'supposedly' embezzled a lot of money from Club Banana."

Monique dropped her head and shook it sadly. "That's not even half the story." Her face came back up with a small half sob as she tried to fix his eyes in hers, "They say I stole almost a hundred thousand dollars over the last three months by setting up fraudulent accounts and doing refunds for cash with the checks being sent to an address somewhere back east. At that address, was a guy whom I supposedly met in an Internet chat room. Next week, he was going to come and get me, and we were going to 'elope'."

Felix's eyes bulged as his jaw dropped in shock and horror.

Monique again shook her head but her eyes didn't leave his. "We weren't even staying in the county Felix. I had a passport with a phony date of birth making me an adult. All that money had already been transferred to an account in Brazil. We were going to run off there and live a life of constant Marti Gras."

Now Felix was shaking his head, "how—?"

"They've got the passport, the computer account transactions, our supposed e-mails back and forth—"

"Did they do a forensic on your computer—?"

She waved him off with a shake of her head. "It was all done supposedly from a computer at the internet café down the street from Bueno Nacho. I was 'sneaky in trying to cover my tracks'."

Now Felix dropped his head and wondered, "my God Monique, what are we going to do?"

Monique stopped as if struck with a club, her mouth frozen open, her jaw hanging open, her eyes staring at Felix in wonder and amazement and—

Violently pulling her hands from his, she dropped her face into them and started to wail. Felix, thunderstruck, totally at a loss for what had happened but instantly assuming that he had done something wrong—

Then Monique came up off her side of the bench just enough to grab his still outstretched hands which she then crushed into her sobbing face with a death like grip as a heart stricken cry escaped her.

"Monique?" Felix cried out in alarm as he was pulled forward.

"Oh Felix," she sobbed. "If you only had any idea."

"Please _tell_ me," he begged on several levels.

Her face came up and her eyes caught him—

And his insides—

Only on the most instinctive level could one know that the look that she was giving him was what it was. And it was one that he never thought he would know from any girl or woman at any time in his life. And it struck him as it would any man, to his very core.

"_Tell me_," he urged.

It took Monique a moment to clear her throat enough to talk and even then, her voice was so husky—

"My lawyer showed me some of the e-mails when we were going over the case. A lot of them are . . . nasty." And she closed her eyes and sucked in a painful sob. "And one of the reoccurring themes of the mail that _I_ supposedly sent is how _I_ wanted to go with this guy because my current boyfriend was a dickless cripple who would never be able to give me what a girl needed and wanted."

Felix's face paled and he started to involuntarily pull his hands away.

"NO!" screamed Monique which brought immediate attention from several of the attendants surrounding the picnic area. Monique had to stand up and they were separated as her mother was brought back over. Felix could only sit wet eyed and distraught as a counselor and administrator was summoned—

Finally, only after repeated admonitions of no physical contact and warnings as to their tone and behavior, they were allowed to resume their places.

"Felix?"

He sat with his head dipped, looking at the far end of the table.

"Felix," Monique tried again with a voice sounding out ever tear of her breaking heart. "Look at me."

"What do _you_ think Monique," came his sudden flat voice. Her mouth snapped shut even as the tears poured from her eyes as she watched him watch the tabletop. "So those weren't your words. But were they maybe, a hint? Did they have a basis in fact? Did whoever did this to you get the idea from some e-mail that you sent someone else maybe." And then he suddenly sucked in a long slow breath, held it, and just as slowly, exhaled it. "Because, whoever is right. We can't say their not. And its been driving me crazy for weeks. So its best that its finally out in the open." Ever so slowly, his head came around to look at her, the well of pain in his eyes finding a twin in hers. "So where do we go from here."

Monique pulled herself upright and despite the cascade down her cheeks, "let's get something straight Mr. Renton. This is both of our faults so we both have to take responsibility. You just said that its been bugging you for weeks. Did you ever bring it up with me? No. Why? I imagine for the same reason why I never brought it up with you." She suddenly lowered her head. "Embarrassment and the inability to be able to really talk to you yet about something so intimate."

Wonder came over Felix's face, forcing him to ask, "but how long have you—"

Although face down, it didn't stop Monique from sadly shaking her head. "To a certain extent, your handicap status isolates you from a lot of grief. Barkin has made it crystal clear that _any_ student harassing any of the special ed students is going to wish they were never born."

She then looked up into his eyes with a grim smile. "But of course, Kim and Ron weren't the only one who was the target of Bonnie's posse's attention. And then, there's enough other regular high school evil type girls who hate me or are jealous of me in their own right from my grades, standing, Club Banana job and so on to be quite creative in their catty barbs and sarcasm and you were the primo target from the moment they realized we were together. And the subject of your . . . main handicap in their eyes was the source of some extremely creative cartoons and notes."

Felix looked at her, as if suddenly feeling her pain, as if suddenly blaming himself for placing her in such a situation—

She saw that look and Monique's eyes narrowed. "Don't you _dare_ take pity on me. I knew what I was doing. And that was _loving you_! THAT was all that mattered to me! You took my heart Felix. I could care less if you didn't have arms either. As long as we can talk and laugh and as long as you can kiss me . . . ."

The wonder crept back into Felix's eyes. It was as if—

"But, you—you left—"

"Damnit Yes!" she cried, on the edge of full-blown sobs again. "And that's MY damn fault because **_I_** couldn't come and talk intimately to you."

Confusion now, "What—?"

"I was scared that Bonnie was going to do some kind of stupid soap opera/reality show thing and steal you away from me!" Monique managed in what could only be called an embarrassed squeak. "Ya know, the poor crazy girl and her therapist fall in love because they've grown so close in his helping her that their almost one."

Felix physically collapsed back into his chair, pale and opened mouthed, as it was all he could do to stare at her.

For more than a minute he stared and she just made motions with her hands and mouth before she managed, "w—when you said what were 'we' going to do. It just . . . . it just . . . . " and she dropped her head into her hands again crying.

Felix couldn't— that look she had given him hadn't been false. Nothing she had ever given him had been false, even her anger. They had both been guilty of lack of communication and . . . and guts.

And guts—

He pushed in as close to the table as he could, stretching out his hands, attendants be damned.

"Monique?"

She glanced up, and a moment later her hands were scrambling into his, "oh Felix—"

"I love you Monique. I feel a sense of responsibility and need toward Bonnie but I _love_ you. And it may be as squewed and as imperfect as my body—"

"Shut you damn mouth Renton!" she snapped at him. "It's _your_ body and I would never love anything as much as I do you if it was squewed and imperfect. It has issues that we have to and _will_ deal with. But the mind, heart and soul is there 100 and by God that is 300 of what I need in a man."

It was just then that the bell rang—

Monique's face fell. She closed her eyes and gathered her strength, feeling him desperately squeezing her hands.

"It's okay," she said although she kept her eyes closed even while she squeezed back. "Now, knowing that we're together again, I have to strength to get through the days." Her eyes opened and through the tears, "I'll call every night and I—"

"I'll be here every visiting day," Felix said trying desperately to show a brave face. "But why are they holding you? You have no prior record and it's not a violent crime?"

Monique shook her head sadly. "The damn counterfeit passport. If there's one there could be more and I could fly the coop. Something about the FBI—" and she suddenly stopped as if struck by something.

"What?" he asked in instant concern.

"Lets go people!" called the attendant.

"The people in Black?" Monique wondered aloud.

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That night, Kim stood under a shower that was as hot as her skin could take it, desperately trying to relieve and loosen some of her screaming, rebelling muscles. She felt as if Shego and her had gone ten rounds while Gorilla Amy had been throwing boulders at her and five hundred monkey ninja's had been trying to trip her up.

But while _everything_ hurt . . . it was a good hurt. The flame inside her had began to burn brightly as she fell back into familiar routine, as old acquaintances from other schools, who had up till now held her at arms distance, flocked back to her with hugs and words of encouragement. Tara, with her in support, had really taken off and the Mad Dogs had followed like a ravenous pack, electrifying the entire camp which had in turn, thrown its whole hearted support behind them. The Mad Dogs might be mired way back in the hoard as far as points at this juncture, unable to make up enough to finish high on the official board, but it was clear that in the hearts and spirits, the Dogs were the underdog favorites and they were roaring back!

Kim was walking back toward the cabin, her hair wrapped up in a towel, her mind already working through the finishing touches of the changes that she and Tara had discusses for the final cheer routine that they had thrown together for tomorrow night—

"Possible?"

The voice was so quiet and hesitant that for a minute Kim thought that she had imagined it.

Then Sherrie Winer stepped out from the side path.

Kim frowned.

She had to admit that Winer had shown herself to be a hard worker, talented and skilled with sharp reflexes and timing that only needed further honing to become one of the best.

But that didn't mean that Kim had to like—

"C—can we t—talk?" Sherrie asked nervously.

Kim's eyes burned through her. "Why?"

Sherrie swallowed hard at the obvious hostility then blurted, "because you're being awful unfair to me. I was getting along great. I felt that I was part of the squad! I felt that I belonged! Now that you're here, I feel like an outsider. And its not from the other girls, its from _you_!"

Kim pulled herself upright as her eyes and temper flared. "Yeah," she nodded in agreement. "I guess that's pretty much the sitch. Whitler made the case for your being here but that doesn't mean that I have to like it or you. So deal with it, or go home!"

"I made a mistake!" Sherrie pleaded. "I got in with the wrong crowd. It was cool and it had a rep or so I thought. It wasn't until I was already stuck that I found out the true story about what was going on with Bonnie and her former posse and why she formed a new one."

The young mouse haired girl stood there with trembling lower lip and red-rimmed eyes. "Look at me. Do you ever think that I would have a chance to be cool otherwise. I _jumped_ at the chance. And I'll probably be regretting it for the rest of my time at school if not for the rest of my life. My older sister _hates_ me because Bonnie was able to find something on her that no one else knows about. _I_ don't even know what it is. And up till now," and she got very quiet, dropping her head as the tears dripped from her eyes, "Belinda, that's my sister, was always my best friend. I've lost that along with everything else it seems."

The miserable face came back up. "I'm nothing special. Cheering makes me at least something. Please don't take that from me. I want to belong somehow. Haven't you _ever_ made a mistake that you've regretted?"

Kim's eyes suddenly squeezed tight as the black hole in her soul suddenly yawned wide, Ron's face flashing before her minds eye.

Sherrie saw the reacting and blanched. She actually put one foot forward as she thought Kim was going to fall faint so much did the older girl shudder and cringe. But a warning hand was extended and the younger girl held her ground.

When Kim was at last able to open her own eyes, there were tears running from them as well, and they looked at Sherrie, _I still have so much more to understand about myself and others, _Kim said to herself in wonder and brutal honesty._ Where I'm special and where I'm not. Where I'm normal and were I'm a stuck up bitch. Well, bitch, you've certainly put your Alpha foot up your butt in this one_

"Sherrie," Kim started and then choked, upset beyond all measure. The young girls face, still turning all shades of worry indeed, almost alarm, made motions for Kim . . . that it was okay, to take her time, that she understood—

Kim focused, steadied herself, and tried again. "Sherrie, your exactly right . . . and I'm sorry. I don't know you for you and . . . I prejudged you." Kim reached up with the corner of her towel and wiped at her eyes. "I _don't_ know you so I need to give you a chance. I will say that the fact that you wanted to go into a posse, any posse, in the first place I _don't_ like and counts against you in my book."

Sherries face colored and her eyes lowered. After a moment however she nodded her head in understanding.

"But," Kim continued, sniffing and now wiping at her nose, "I also know, and am learning furiously about even as we speak, about education through the errors of our ways. We've both been involved in a considerable amount of drama of recent. And I'm willing if you are, to start from scratch, from square one, as of right now, and see where it goes from there."

Sherries lip was trembling again but her eyes were the size of saucers, as bright as headlights as she barely managed, "I'd like that a lot."

Kim simply nodded, "fine." She then waved the younger girl on and together they continued on the way back towards the Mad Dogs cabin.

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Kim leaned back away from the table as Tara made the last of the revised notations on the final cheer routine. _Just let us place,_ Kim said as if in prayer. _That's all we want Lord. Give us eighth and I will personally _not_ carry out my plan to burn down Carla Ethome's house._ She blew out a tired (the heck with it, she was exhausted) breath. She was about level five into martial arts techniques to shunt aside pain and it was taking a toil on her. Early bed tonight to recharge fully for tomorrow.

"Kim?"

She looked up as Liz came in the door. The poof styled, brassy red haired girl looked a little worried which immediately kicked in Kim's overly sensitive nature and—

"Whitler wants to see you."

Now the warning belles sounded further. "Do you know why?" Kim asked.

Liz could only give a little self-conscious shrug. "She didn't say."

So it was with more than a little trepidation that Kim went over to the coach's cabin.

"You wanted to see me ma'am?"

Whitler was actually sitting on a chair outside, leaning it back on the rear legs against the side of the cabin. By the evidence on the ground around her, she had been smoking in the evenings out here so not to disturb her bunkmates. She now glanced over at Kim and waved her toward a chair set opposite her against a tree.

Kim hesitated. "Ma'am, I'm really tired and really focused right now on the squad. I don't mean to be rude or disrespectful—"

Narrow eyes pierced through her. "You're the one who said that you needed to talk to me the other day about how you were confused and needed help to try to make sense of what was going on in your head." The older woman's head now cocked over the other way to regard Kim with a look of open skepticism. "Or have you managed to completely solve all of yours and the worlds problems in the last twenty four hours like most teenagers who insist that they're invincible."

Kim felt her cheeks color and started to open her mouth—

But she snapped it closed. _No, I did ask for her help and there still are many things I'm confused about that she could help me with. And with everything she has already done for me, I'm not about to be obstinate and throw it back into her face. _

"I'm sorry ma'am," Kim said in a low, humble voice as she moved toward the offered chair. "It's just that—"

"Part of your problem Kim," Whitler started and Kim almost stopped, shocked to her core by the coach's use of her first name, "is that you still are not very good at prioritizing and taking care of what's really important."

As Kim slid into the chair, Whitler gave her an incredulous smile and shake of the head. "Can't you recognize that you have so revitalized that bunch of girls that right now they could take off totally without you and conquer the world, simply because they know that they were instrumental in your return and recovery. But you, you haven't seen that you have wound them up and can now let them take off and you can sit back, relax and just be one of the 'girls'."

Kim looked at the coach for the longest moment, trying to understand, no, really understanding but not seeing, no, really seeing but not fathoming, no—

Kim shook her head to clear it causing Whitler to actually laugh. "I know, I know," the older woman sympathized, "as an Alpha Female I know exactly that none of it computes when your as tired, as involved and as wound up in it as you are right now. But believe me, that's where you are, that's what's going on. And as hard as it seems, you're going to have to relax or your going to BLOW IT tomorrow. You will not be able to sleep tonight, no matter how good you are with your martial arts disciplines! So sit! Get your mind off of the squad, the cheer routines, tomorrow. Talk to me about _your_ tomorrow and whatever it is that is still hiding in those deep dark corners waiting to shock you awake in the middle of the night crying. I know their there. I've experienced them enough myself."

Kim, after a moment, could only again shake her head and give a sheepish half smile. "I hear and I . . . understand what your saying ma'am but," and Kim had to give a kind of helpless gesture with her hands, "I _think_ I'm doing okay. I know that there's a lot I have to work out, but is this really the time? I have to concentrate on tomorrow."

Whitler's eyebrow rose. "Wrong answer," she said evenly.

Kim looked at the coach and again made a gesture asking for help.

Whitler's chair came down off the rear legs with a 'thump' and the coach was suddenly very close and very quiet. "Tara has to concentrate on tomorrow. You merely have to relax and be ready to perform per her instructions."

Kim actually _wilted_ under the older woman's intense look. Whitler finally gave her a ghost of a smile. "I know. It's hard to be a regular soldier when your so use to being the general. But give it a chance. You might find that being the peed-on peon isn't so bad sometimes." Whitler once again leaned the chair back into the wall. "You get more sack time for instance. And you look like you could really use some."

The sheepish smile came back to Kim's face. "Yes ma'am. I am awful tired."

Whitler snorted. "You have this eternal problem with responsibility. You don't know when _not_ to be or," and now the coaches one eye focused on her evilly, "you look only at your own responsibilities without seeing how they can interfere with those of others."

Kim's head dropped. "Yes ma'am. I've been giving that a lot of thought. And I think I'm . . . and maybe it's a bad term for it, but I'm in control of that. It's going to take a lot of trial an error—"

"I thing there's some error going on right now then isn't there?"

A perplex look crossed Kim's face then she understood. She looked back up. "Well, I suppose. But Tara _needed_ the pointers on the routine plan if we're going to get the max points for it and we—"

"Need all the points we can get," Whitler conceded. "Alright, point taken." Then the coach's head cocked again. "But getting back to you. Are _you_ anything else? I know there are things running around inside that nimble little head of yours that are just bursting to be released."

Kim looked at her for a long moment, a thoughtful look of consideration on her face. Then, in a low, almost hesitant tone, "why did you do it ma'am? It seems to me that you might have thought that you were taking an awful risk."

And somehow, Kim was not at all surprised that Whitler knew _exactly_ what she was asking about. What _did_ surprise her was the tone of the adults voice when she started to answer.

Definitely apologetic.

"I'm sure that you remember the conversations we had in the PE office a week ago now. And yes, to answer the question and statement you made there on Friday, you could sue the pants off me, the school and the rest of the free world for the way I treated you. But tell me something," and once again Whitler dropped down off the wall becoming close and intimate, "if I hadn't of kicked your skinny butt the way I had then and there, would you be here, now? Would you be the way you are now, here?"

The confirmation of her suspicions hit Kim and tears came to her eyes as she blurted, "that's why I'm asking? Why did you take such a chance?"

That right eyebrow climbed right up to the hairline, followed a moment later by one corner of the coaches mouth turning up into the first full smile Kim could ever remember seeing there.

"I think that answer is a good indication right there Kim."

Kim blinked away tears in surprise and bewilderment. "What—what do you mean?" she needed to know.

The smile became a full face-covering grin. "The fact that your not threatening me with that self same lawsuit right now as I have fully admitted my base liability in voluntarily violating every constitutional, civil and a half dozen criminal rights and rules that exist by forcing you to come to this camp."

Kim's mental gears jarred, but inside she realized, "and," she said, looking to Whitler in sudden understanding and downright awe, "like those people out there in the 'real world' that you keep warning me about, there are those who would still sue you even though everything you did, was simply and totally meant to help someone else who desperately needed it. That _someone_ being me."

The grin went away with a somber nod. "I figured that you were a fairly safe gamble." Whitler's eyes were steady and hard. "Considering your world saving career, I felt that you had to be pretty much above that kind of petty bullshit. And the chance I had when I met your parents, told me that they were cut from the same cloth. And that's something else I want to talk to you about."

Whitler sat back up and fixed Kim with that same hard stare. "I verbally and mentally slapped and abused you pretty hard during those two conversations and for the first couple of days here at camp. I did that on purpose. It happened for two reasons. Like what happens in Boot Camp, you had to be torn down mentally so that you could be rebuilt from the ground up. The other reason is more sinister. As I'm sure you now know, you had an ego problem that you didn't realize you had. And as I said, I have gobs of experience reducing egos to nothing."

Whitler cocked her head to a different angle and continued in a softer voice. "What I want to tell you as someone who is genuinely concerned for your well being Kim (shock and awe down to Kim's very toes), is that while I meant every word I said, none of it was said maliciously. It was all said for the purpose stated. Yes, I have a . . . shall we say problem with some so called, wealthy people. My family had a generations old family farm in Illinois that was one of the hundreds to be over mortgaged and foreclosed on by one of the big banks in the late seventies. It was of course bought up and operated by one of the big farming conglomerates. We ended up as itinerant farm hands after that until I was old enough to join the service. My father died poor, my mother is still poor. Both of my brothers got factory jobs, one of them has since been laid off when it closed and their poor. As I told you, military families are often treated as poor all around this country due to the low service pay."

Whitler's hand came up and wiped across her face. "So," she said in a rush, "you might say that I generally have a problem with those who would be regarded as 'wealthy'." But then she looked Kim square in the eye. "But the majority of those are your entertainers, your sports figures, and by God, your corporate and big businessmen. When it come to people like your folks," and the coach and to stop and take a calming breath. "Both of them have had to obtain an incredible amount of education to get where they are. That took time, dedication and skill. Your father, he's doing one of the tasks that makes our county great, the exploration of space. And your mother," and Whitler just shook her head in wonder. "I've seen the combat medics and the field hospitals in action. And I've asked around. Your mom has a rep even in the Med Corps for what she does. And for a Civie, that's saying something."

The smile was back. "So the bottom line Kim is that despite what I said about meaning every word I said, in the case of your parents, I hold no ill will. In your case, I think with your eyes now open, you'll do everyone justice."

Kim took a moment to rub at her eyes before whispering in a choked voice, "boy, if that's the way you treat someone your 'genuinely concerned for', I'd hate to see the way you treat someone you don't like."

Now both of Whitler's eyes turned evil with a delighted maliciousness behind it. "Ah contraire, young female whom God forgot to hang a butt on, not too long ago, I hated your guts."

Kim's face suddenly flashed wide and— "You **_DID_**! W—Wh—what—"

Whiter again leaned back into the chair, exploding in laughter.

Kim looked on helplessly for the minute it took for Whitler to recover. Then, with a resigned look of relived memories, the coach related, "you will remember last year when a certain poodle belonging to your 'arch-nemesis' got, shall we say, blow all out of proportion and attacked the Air Forces precious Area 51."

"Commodore Puddles?" Kim breathed.

Whitler's face went a little grimmer. "My last billet was an attack helicopter squadron gearing up for redeployment to the Middle East. We were going through Live-Fire Exercises at Fort Irwin in California when that mess hit. We were the only non-nuke attack force of any strength in range and we about _killed_ ourselves getting our birds in off of the training ranges, fueling and arming them, setting the ops orders and getting them launched."

Whitler's head dropped and there was a frustrated shake. "We pushed too hard. We had people _hurt_. But we got the birds off, in violation of peacetime regs by the way because they were flying over open territory armed to the teeth. We then loaded up our trucks with our beat-up, exhausted people and went after them because the distance to Area 51 with that load-out was out of round trip range."

Whitler's head came back up with a look that Kim actually cringed under. "Our birds were two hundred miles short when you and Stoppable took care of the problem. All that work for NOTHING!" and she stomped one foot on the ground causing Kim to jump.

Whitler stared out into the woods for a moment, then her eyes slid back over to Kim. "Needless to say, there were a multitude of targets on the Irwin ranges over the following week that had yours and Stoppable's pictures on them when they were violently disassembled. In fact, those targets usually had more ordinance placed on them than reasonably necessary. It was really pissing the Irwin Range Masters off. And a certain, sadistic part of me has thoroughly enjoyed parts of the last several months, especially the last week."

Kim was kind of huddled in her chair having made an attempt to crawl into her own skin. When Whitler finally looked back towards her, the older woman found that she had to laugh again. "You can relax," the coach advised the teen, "I don't hold a grudge . . . usually."

Kim pulled herself up, watching the older woman warily. "Well, I've had way too much drama of late and you were certainly acting tweaked enough. Considering your comments about how I was so much of a princess, knowing nothing about, what did you call it, the scud and grunge work?"

Whitler nodded approvingly. "But at least you got the point. Let me ask you. For all your community projects, cleaning up the parks, helping paint the Senior Center, refurbishing the library, how often do you pick up your own room?"

Kim's flushing face answered the question. Whitler nodded. "How about the stuff you use on your . . . missions? Is that what you call them? Do you maintain them? If one of them broke in the field, could you fix it or if not, could you improvise a replacement? Someday, something is going to happen and your going to be up shits creek without your paddle. Something to think about right now."

Kim gave her a nod.

"But then there's the other facet to that. There are others out there who do _not_ like you simply because you don't, haven't, and probably never will have to do any of that kind of stuff. They see you as an elite strike force that gets all the fame and glory and doesn't even have to shine its boots for inspection. That's the low life's at your boarder station that filmed you through that two-way mirror. No feeling of camaraderie or sense of that your anything other than some Prima Dona that they'll find any excuse to shit on. This is something else that you need to be aware of so you can either build some bridges to extend the hand of camaraderie if possible or be ready to have eyes in the back of your head if not." Whitler gave her a grim look. "I'm sure if you could have gotten a photo of yourself, all wet and muddy before you took that shower it might have changed more than a few minds in some service units."

Whitler leaned forward with her forearms resting on her knees. "But in addition to all this, I do want to make something else very clear. For everything else that has been said, while I will never take back any of it, and while I could still say quite a bit more, you and Stoppable have my profound respect for what you do and my thanks, despite . . . some other feelings, for what you have done to make this world a free, safe place. I've been in some pretty bad shit holes on this planet, seeing how life _could_ be for everyone if some nut case managed to take over everything. I also know a whole lot of grunts, jarheads, swabbies, airdales, flyboys, boomers, groundpounders, gators, squids, cannon-cockers, throttle-jockeys, tankers, fast-movers, airborne, and hog-drivers that would be dead before they ever allowed something like that to ever really come to pass."

Kim felt her coloring deepening and managed to mumble a thanks.

"Don't mention it," Whiter returned with a smile, starting to dig into a breast pocket of a cigarette, "now get to bed. Big day tomorrow. Or should I say, 'no big' day tomorrow."

Kim managed a bright grin. "No shit coach."

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She had too sleep, she knew it. Her life was coming back together. Things were falling into place—

Except for the black hole—

And that Whitler had kept saying her and 'Stoppable' this and her and 'Stoppable' that!

She . . . . .

Tara, in the bunk above her, prayed for her as she listened to Kim softly cry herself to sleep.


	17. The Education of Kim Possible P3 Healing

Kim's nerves were about to shut down from extreme overload as she stood with the other girls watching the last part of the routine of the Red City Revolution blast its way along, bringing the crowd to its feet.

"Their good," squeaked Jessica in dismay.

Tara rounded about on them. "And we're better. Have faith girls. We've worked too hard the last couple of days to throw it in now! We CAN do this!"

Kim marveled at the determination and strength in Tara's face and poise, wondering if she could do as well in the same position. She never would have known for the Mad Dogs she had led had always been the favorites to win right up front from the beginning. Now, she could feel the eyes of the other girls on her, looking to her to see if she had the same confidence, the same determination as the girl who had replaced her.

Did she?

The Revolution finished to cheers and stomping feet from the other schools as they finished their turn. Bouncing, clapping, capering, they started to make their way off the stage, which meant—

Kim's emerald eyes narrowed and an evil grin came to one corner of her mouth. "Guys," she sneered, "if any of you embarrass easily than you better cover your eyes. Cause this routine Tara came up with is going to blow the bloomers right off of those girls. So lets hope they're wearing underwear under them."

"AND NOW," the announcer boomed out, "WITH THEIR ROUTINE DONE TO THE MUSIC OF THE CLASSICAL FUSION QUARTETTE 'BOND', THE MIDDLETON MAD DOGS WITH, "VICTORY"!"

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Ron stopped and looked at Felix. "Are you _sure_ this is a good idea?"

Felix shrugged and said, "no."

Ron rolled his eyes theatrically, "Felllllixxx."

"A guys gotta do what a guys gotta do Stoppable," Felix added with another shrug. Then, with a wave of his hand, Felix went in through the door, leaving Ron in the hall.

"Good Luck," Ron wished him. The blond haired teen then turned to hobble off on his own special little mission.

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"Hi."

"Hello."

Felix's eyebrow almost went up. "Well, you're sounding sunny this afternoon."

Bonnie gave him a big smile. "Well," she said with a sly smile, "there just might be some hope that my mom and step-dad will actually sit down with the docs and have a serious discussion about what goes on in the Rockwaller household."

Felix blinked. "That's great."

Bonnie actually giggled. "Isn't it?" She then looked out at Felix with her now lively eyes and in a more sober voice she asked, "and how's things going for you?"

Felix just shrugged. "Nothing really. We're in holding mode until Monique's initial hearing. There's a whole bunch of other hearings and 'legal motions' to go through first so its probably going to be a least a couple of weeks."

Bonnie's eyes stayed locked on him. "How's she doing?"

"Climbing the walls, at least figuratively."

Now Bonnie's eyes got even deeper. "And how are you doing?"

Felix steeled himself and said, "I came to say goodbye."

Bonnie's eyes got very big and her voice got very small, "goodbye?"

Felix nodded firmly. "It's time for the professionals to handle you full time Bonnie. Your square, sober, taking your meds, talking to the docs, following their instructions—"

"Bu—but Felix—"

"Bonnie—" he said gently, "they have in fact said that I've been here too long. Besides, I'm not the one who really wants to be doing this. I'm only doing this as a favor for Tara. She's the one who's really trying to help you here. Going after you was all her idea after all and it was her who practically forced me to stay when you were . . . being you the first couple of days."

The eyes looking at him were those of a lost puppy.

"Bonnie."

"Y—y—yes?"

Felix looked very serious. "I know that this upsets you. The fact that it does so much is a good indication that it's a good idea that I should leave. You don't need to get . . . too close to me. I . . . can be . . . friendly with you at some point, but that's all."

Her lower lip was now trembling. "But Felix—"

"No Bonnie—"

Bonnie dropped her head.

After a moment Felix had to sigh. "I hope I was able to help at least a little bit." With that he started to move his chair around.

Bonnie looked back up, a tear running from one eye, "Felix."

He stopped and looked over.

She had to choke back something for a moment before she could say, "you helped more than a little bit. You helped a lot. It's going to be hard without you. But I'm not going to disgrace what you've done by falling to pieces over it, even though it does hurt and—"

And she had to look away, "and even though maybe I was starting to get just a little attached—"

She had to lean over so she could rub at the one eye. "Do—do you _ever_ think that there will be a boy out there for me Felix?" She waited for an answer, still not looking at him.

He felt his insides tearing up, as they feared he would. He too, despite his feelings for Monique, had become a little attached to a certain lost puppy.

"I," Felix said carefully, "would hope so Bonnie. You're a nice person when you're clean, sober, and not driven by the need to be the 'star'. There has to be someone out there who can make you their 'star'. I'm sorry if I'm not them."

Bonnie took a deep, shuddering breath. "So am I." She then looked up, being honest enough to at least not attempt a phony smile. "Take care of yourself."

Felix, wetness at the corner of his eyes, nodded. "You do the same." And then he rolled out of the room, his timing as he had hope for the afternoon staff was just coming in.

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"You're kidding?" Ron said and he wasn't kidding either.

The supervisory nurse of the ICU section he had been in gave him a look of heavy disapproval. "You asked which is really not something a patient should do, I told which is something I am not suppose to do and you have th—"

"No, no it's not that," Ron said quickly throwing his best, most charming (which he knew never worked anyway but it was worth a shot on the old bag) smile on the lady to try and stave off any lack of cooperation when he had half of his question—

Well you see, she got along so well, I mean downright Badical with my mom, that I thought it would be nice to hook the two of them up—"

"I find this entire conversation circumspect for several reasons," came the severe pronouncement. Ron drew his arms in close to his sides. "First, the nurse in question ignored her other duties to spend almost all her time in your room talking to your mother young man which did not at all please any of the other staff on that ward that day, second," and Ron's eyes grew bigger as he shrunk down about two sizes, "considering what little I know about the big to-do with your girlfriend Kim Possible, it seems to me, the way that nurse was bending your mothers ear all that day, that there is a reasonable likelihood that she might have had some influence on your mother and THREE!" while Ron assumed the general shape and consistency of melted Jell-O pudding on the floor, "I consider the fact that you are 'trying to hook her and your mother together to be as likely as sheep are to need artic snow shoes in the Sahara so _FOUR_," it appeared that only Ron's ears were left, "considering the fact that _somehow_ she managed to get bumped past all the senior nurses in the local registry to get assigned here at this facility does **_NOT_ **make her a friend of mine."

So the supervising nurse snorted and said, "she was out of the national registry. She was in town from New Jersey where it seems that she was just passing through."

Ron, realizing at last that the woman was actually _talking_ to him and not trying to skin him alive popped his head up— "New Jersey?"

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Kim came out of the showers vigorously working the water out of her hair with a towel. She had just left Tara doing the same job with a hair dryer inside. The _both_ of them had been ceremoniously tossed into the Wannaweep swimming pool for the Mad Dogs stunning come-from-behind slide into _second_ place for the week at Cheer Camp. And due to the lack of enough Squad members to do it safely, members of the first place Revolutions had pitched in (along with pitching in their own Captain into the pool as well).

Now, with the last night festivities ringing through the camp, Kim quietly made her way back to the cabin where she dressed.

She was happy—

She was scared—

Home . . . and the black hole that was a certain goof-faced messy-haired boy confronted her in the morning. And now she knew that it was something that she could neither avoid nor run away from any longer.

Now she really needed help.

She found Whitler in the building being used as the Admin office finishing paperwork with a couple of other coaches and camp personnel. Their eyes met at once and Whitler stood without a word.

Minutes later, having walked in silence all the way to Whitler's cabin, they were once again sitting in the chairs. Kim was staring at the ground as the flame inside her flickered with doubt and the voice in her mind desperately tired to force the voice in her throat to say—

"So," asked Whitler not giving Kim a chance to start on her own, "are you finally going to open up and talk about what's _really_ bothering you? I mean, dumping your life long friend who is also your boyfriend is pretty traumatic and most girls can't help but want to babble about it. You've been tight at a clam. Not healthy girl."

That was all it took and Kim 'babbled'. Not only did she do that, she cried, sobbed, broke down, came apart at the seams. She told Whitler everything from the point from where Ron had taken on himself in bringing Barkin and Whitler to the Possible residence to make her presence at camp happen right through her thanking him afterwards, the shooting, what had happened with his mom and the aftermath and ultimately—

In the end, Whitler was left just sadly shaking her head. "Things never happen to you simply and you never do things by halves do you," the older woman commented. "Not," she added thoughtfully, "that given the extremes of your present situation that it wouldn't drive _any_ Alpha Female to extremes bordering on the bazaar, or a badly written soap opera."

But then Whitler gave a heavy sigh. "But I'm not one to talk about soap operas when it comes to my own private life. Married three times, had a bunch of lovers, several while being married by the way, responsible for at least one other marriage being broken apart." Suddenly the older woman's face grew thoughtful. "Tell me about Stoppable's refusal some more. He made a promise to who?"

When Kim had finished falling and fumbling her way through what she believed was going on with Ron and his 'promise to a respected elder'—

Whitler's face was deep in contemplation for some time, lighting another cigarette while doing so—

Just when Kim was starting to get very uncomfortable—

"You don't have any idea just how lucky you are Possible."

There was actually envy in Whitler's voice.

"What's that ma'am," was all Kim could ask, totally mystified.

A sad, bitter smile came to the older woman's face. "Listen very carefully to the story I'm about to tell Possible. I think your smart . . . and mature enough to understand."

Kim made a face.

Whitler made one right back. "Don't pull that crap on me girl. You may be very mature as far as your social, leadership, learning and a whole shitload of others and you deal with a whole lot of high stratosphere bigwigs who treat you like some kind of goddess at times but face it." And now the look cut right thought Kim like a razor sharp sword, "when it comes to love, the heart and boys, your as new, fresh, helpless, venerable, naive, and looking for clues and answers as any other seventeen year old girl. So here are some from someone who's been around the block more than a few times so shut up and listen."

Whitler turned her head to look off into the night, took a deep breath, "I had been trying to get a coveted assignment with a 'Black Ops' helo squadron forever. It had caused a lot of friction with my second marriage and by the time I actually managed to make it, that was pretty well going down the toilet."

"The billet was everything I thought it was and we kicked ass and took names. Of course, being that we were a small crew, only four birds, we got to be very close and tightly knit." She stopped and the sad smile was back. "There was a pilot that I had the hots for. My marriage was shot so, what the hell, I went after him. Of course, he was married but in the service that usually doesn't matter, those hot shot throttle jockeys will take anything they can get."

Now Whitler's head turned to look sadly at Kim. "Just my luck that this guy was the one exception to that rule. He turned me down _flat_. Which of course pissed me off royally so I went after him harder and he continued to turn me down."

Her head dropped and she sadly shook it. "But I didn't give up and amazingly neither did he. Just pissed me off more. But by now, the word was out and eventually rumors got back to his wife—"

Kim took in a sharp breath as the possibility hit her. Whitler raised just her eyes to gaze at the teen and now the smile was once again bitter. "That's right. That poor bastard never so much as once strayed over the line, but his old lady heard about it, knew what she had heard from every other service wife and millions of rumors and stories from two hundred years of military history and automatically assumed that he had. And in the end, thanks to a little help, nothing he could say or do could convince her otherwise."

Whitler's head came up and the sad, bitter eyes bored Kim straight through, "So he got screwed even though nothing, absolutely _nothing_ ever happened. She didn't _trust_ him enough to believe him even though he said, even though all his friends said, even when all of _my_ friends said, that nothing happened and you know why?"

Kim shook her head no.

Now the bitterness was in the form of a chuckle as Whitler closed her eyes as if in pain. "Because I went right to his wife and told her right to her face that I screwed his butt off. A full blown blatant lie because he wouldn't."

Kim physically rocked back, shocked beyond belief.

It was more than a minute before Whitler could open her eyes that looked off without actually seeing and, "she divorced him. He was so messed up that he couldn't fly any more and had to leave the unit. Pissed the C/O off royally. This was in the pre-sexual harassment/hostile workplace environment era that the military tried so long to resist so I was brought up on administrative charges of conduct prejudicial to the good order and discipline of the service. I was busted two paygrades and kicked out of the unit, sent to a supply depot that didn't even have a billet for my MOS so I spent two years driving their garbage truck." The eyes closed again. "So much for the dream, six years of sweat and blood and my own second marriage."

Now Whitler's head tilted and the eyes opened to fix _hard_ on Kim with that look that seemed to be pealing her brain open for examination. "So Possible, think about it, sometime in the far future, your back together with Stoppable, maybe even married and there's problems. Your both mad at each other, one of you is in pain from something. Tempers get short. Some supervillian is tearing up the world and the government is all over you ass to have it stopped, the laundry is piling up, the toilet is plugged, your having major cramps and the kids are teething and some Internet Scandal Site specializing in celebrity videos hits the big time with good old Ron boy engage in the Karma Sutra with your good friend, what's her name? Shago? There it is, in vivid color and High Definition. Stoppable of course denies it!"

Whitler suddenly shut up and leaned back in the chair, balancing on the rear legs against the cabin wall, hand digging for another cigarette.

Kim was left with her mouth agape, her eyes the size of dinner plates. Ron? With Shego? How ridicul—

Her whole face suddenly clamped down tight as a sudden, unbidden image of Eric came to her. No, not Shego, but maybe . . . Erica, the female Sytho-drone? Telling tales and spreading lies, with CGI files to back her stories up? Could she believe Ron under those conditions? Could she believe and trust in Ron—

Whiter was just in the process of lighting her cigarette when Possible's eyes slowly came open to stare at her in true wonder and total disbelief which after a moment, as the eyes lowered, was changed to shame and—

"Hurts doesn't it," was Whitler's soft statement as she pulled out the burning stick and blew out a plume.

It was all Kim could do to nod an acknowledgement.

"But its nice to know isn't it," the coach continued. "I mean, if a hormone filled seventeen year old male is willing to turn down having sex when it is being _demanded_ by his teen girlfriend as a part of a threat to forever end their relationship after being together since pre-kindergarten and going through years of near death battles with freaky supervillians, I'd say that's he's GodDamn well trustworthy, baring being subjected to hypnosis or drugs, of being overcome by some villainous slut. AND"

And she held the emphasis there until at last, Kim's tear streaked face slowly came back around to look up at her.

"And," the older woman continued more softly, "I would truly believe that it is a measure of his devotion, his dedication, his commitment and his love for you. All things, which I believe, knowing how distraught and confused you are by all that has happened to you, that he would not for a moment, hesitate to open his arm and take you back. For any boy at his age who is willing to make _that_ kind of commitment to a girl, has already done so for life, for as long as you _both_ shall live."

Kim's head gave a small shake and Whitler read it for what she knew it was.

"What your feeling Kim is _your_ bloody fucking Alpha Female pride, shame and embarrassment. Do you, knowing what has to be in _his_ heart knowing that he has made _that_ kind of commitment to you, really think that beyond being hurt and pissed off at you that he's going to just _drop_ you. For a kid his age to be able to be that passionate about something to make _that_ kind of decision and stick to it with _that_ kind of dedication means his whole body, mind and soul is into it." Whiter shook her head with the hint of an incredulous smile. "Don't let _your_ butt-headedness make it any worse, not that you have any kind of butt to work with mind you."

Kim actually gaped in disbelief at that and Whitler smiled before continuing, "Go home tomorrow, get through that oh so horrible, embarrassing moment, get the two of you back together and get on with your lives."

Kim's eyes closed again and the sobs came unbidden and hard. And they came even harder when the gruff looking Cheer coach flicked her cigarette off into the dirt, came off the rear legs of her chair and in moments, wrapped the needy girl in a bear hug of comforting arms.

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"You should go and at least put in a showing at the party."

Whitler was walking with Kim back toward the Mad Dogs cabin. Kim tiredly shook her head. "I have a lot to think about," and she turned to stare off into the dark, "and a lot of feelings to still resolve."

Whitler gave her a look. "It would be easier to do so if you started fresh. It's been a long, tiring, exciting, emotional day. Not exactly a good time to be examining what you're talking about. Your not going to get an honest reading on what your feeling."

Kim had reached the door to the cabin and hesitated. Turning back to the coach, "I see the point and your right. But at the same time, I'm certainly too emotionally drained to have a good time over there," and she gestured toward the main hall where a big bon fire was burning outside and loud reverie was going on. "So I think I'll just stay here. I might try rummaging through one of the other girls backpacks for their cellphone. I know they wouldn't mind and I didn't bring mine. I think I'd like to talk to my mom for a while."

Understanding and an accompanying nod came from Whitler. "Hope you sleep well."

"Thank you, for everything," Kim said, meaning every word of it. She turned and pushed through into the cabin—

"Kim—" hissed a voice from the darkness inside, "where _have_ you _been!_"

"Wha—" Kim stopped, frozen in the door, sensing that there was more than one person in the room in front of her, "what's going on? Why are the lights out?" Who's—"

"Get in and shut the door before someone—"

"I think someone has," pronounced Whitler in a calm, penetrating voice as Kim suddenly found herself being pushed into the room and the lights coming on.

Inside was the gathered Mad Dogs and—

Several of the Prancing Pony's, including their Captain. Kim blinked in surprise and wonder. She now recognized the voice as Tara's but you would have thought that they were having a party with boys and booze (Tara? Never happen) the way they were standing looking at her and Whitler in shock and horror. But another group of cheerleaders? One that hadn't even placed? What—

"What's going on Tara?" Kim asked in total disjointment.

Tara's eyes were locked on the coach and her mouth was moving but nothing was coming out.

But Whitler's eyes were locked on the Pony's Captain; a petite Asian girl whom Kim realized was just trembling with embarrassment, but was shaking with fear. And the shaking became worse when in a voice of steel, Whitler snapped out, "the Watchman saw all the Pony Girls going to that abandoned warehouse next to the river outlet. He said there was a van there that had come up the river road. Your coach was suppose to go check it out but she was still in the admin building last I saw. A little case of turning a blind eye to something maybe?"

Whitler's eyes then surveyed the whole room before coming to rest on Tara. "What I don't understand and what I want an answer to right now is why are the Pony Girls here now? And why were all of you waiting together for Possible to get back before you went off to do something together maybe? I know of no history of the Mad Dogs or the Pony Girls together."

Kim in the meantime had put two and two together had come up with a number that she was loath to admit, had dredged up memories that she had tried very hard to bury, felt once again her insides lock up tight with agony as she wanted to turn and run from a fearsome 'maybe'. But she was trying so had to stand up and had come so far so she had no choice but to—

"I'm sorry, Ms Whitler," she said stepping forward and turning to place herself between the coach and the group of girls. "I'm afraid that there is some history between our two groups. Although only one other girl is aware of it." And with that, Kim cast a hesitant look at the Pony Captain, saying in an honest, apologetic, humble way, "last year at this camp, I had an . . . encounter with the boyfriend of the Captain of the Block City High Prancing Pony's."

Whitler's eyes narrowed with sudden understanding. She held her tongue however as the clearly mortified Kim continued.

"And while we didn't think that anyone had seen us, if fact," and Kim pointed at the Asian girl, "his girlfriend _had_ seen us and confronted me later on that night." Kim looked at Whitler and admitted, "I have _never_ been so embarrassed as I was that night. I was only thankful that she kept her promise not to spread any word or rumor around."

Then Kim dipped her head as she turned bright red. "As did that jerk. He promised he would never tell a soul. Then he blabbed to that scandal sheet."

Whitler looked back to the Captain of the Pony's. "Sooooo, why are you girls here tonight? And don't try to tell me that nothing is going on. I was a senior NCO in the service for eight years and catching enlisted personnel in dark rooms looking like the preverbal deer's-caught-in-the-headlights was stock in trade."

Now it was the Pony's Captain's turn to stand with mouth flapping for several moments as terror blazed out of her eyes.

Whiter held up a hand. "Okay, what say that we _all_ take a little walk down to that warehouse as I've got a feeling that we might find some answers there maybe."

She got her reward and her answer by the reaction of a bunch of teenaged girls eyes assuming the size of trashcan lids.

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"It's about timeeeeemmmeeeeee---------"

"Shut UP David," said Traci, the Pony Girls Captain as she led the way into the room, lit by a single propane lantern. Of course Whitler was directly behind the terrified girl, the Coaches eyes locked on the two hulking football player types who were standing goggle eyed to either side of another form, huddled down in a chair with a bag covering the head. The rest of the Pony Squad, cheerleaders, yell leaders and mascots were rushing at each other together like chicks coming together for warmth.

Kim and the Mad Dogs gathered together off to one side as Whitler came to a stop in front of the group of three, still holding Traci by the top of one shoulder. The rest of the Pony's that had been with the Mad Dogs had run to join the rest of their squad.

Whitler looked to the boy who had been speaking when they entered. "David?"

He sullenly nodded and pointed at Traci. "I'm her older brother."

Whitler nodded. "I noted the resemblance. I assume that you're in college. So is this some whacked initiation ritual or something more sinister than that. And why are my girls being involved?

David fidgeted with his hands for a moment, then pointed to the hooded figure, "it involves him," and then at the group of Mad Dogs, "and her."

Whiter glanced back at her group. "But . . . one of my girls?"

"You DIDN'T!" cried Kim coming forward.

Whitler's hand snatched forward and ripped the cover off of the head. "Is this _him_ Kim?"

Whitler then spun about and grabbed the charging teen in a full bear hug shouting, "STOP!"

Kim, her eyes locked on the terrified face of the 'Jock', the one who had started the whole castle of her life crashing in ruins around her, tried to force, muscle, shear around, tear away from the strong arms wrapped around her as her rage roared in her ears. She heard Whitler shouting, screaming into her ear but her rage drowned it out. Finally she did a Jujitsu move and slid by but was grabbed by the shoulder and spun around—

Kim raised her one hand as she flung off the other—

And she was backhanded so hard that she was literally sent flying, landing hard, the sudden stars exploding in her head extinguishing the fire of rage burning—

Kim groggily felt herself being rolled over onto her back. Her eyes opened to see several grim faced Whitler's orbiting about her field of vision. "Are you in there?" came the gruff question.

Kim blinked, a motion which caused an eruption of pain at the back of her head. But she was able to mumble, "you hit me?"

Whitler snorted and said softly for just her ears, "would you rather I let your skinny butt commit manslaughter?" Without waiting for an answer, Whitler heaved herself to her feet and rounded about on the group of Pony's and the two football players with a voice that literally shredded skin.

"What have you people got? Shit for brains? What in the _fuck_ did you think would happen after everything that she's gone through in the last several months, what seeing _him_ would do to her. And do you think that you had a chance in hell that if you brought someone like Kim Possible, with all her training and experience, into a situation like this, where sure as shit, she was going to loose it and be operating on pure rage and adrenaline, that you sorry lot could keep her from _murdering_ this poor bastard before you jerks even had an idea what was going on."

"We—we're—we're sorry ma'am," Traci whimpered as she cried with pure fright. "B—but we only thought it was right. I—I mean, I _hated_ Possible for what she did last year. But it wasn't until after _he_," and she pointed at the Jock, "showed his true colors that I realized that it wasn't entirely her fault. I found out that he's been screwing around on me forever. He just never did it with any girls from Block City. And since he left for college a year ago last September, he's really been going to town despite all his promises and pledges to stay faithful. When he got kicked out of Denver because he failed to make the cut on that football squad and had to go to Upperton, he picked up with the girls there. Unfortunately for him, many of them knew my brother. David passed the information to me."

Traci looked at the Jock with hatred and contempt. "I didn't want to believe him at first. Then the British Scandal sheet thing involving Possible came out. Then David heard that the rag got its info from this guy's blog. I found it . . . and read it . . . and only then was able to convince myself about how long and about how many he had betrayed me with."

Whitler looked to David. "So you figured that you would help with a little revenge by a little kidnapping."

David's face darkened. "Like you wouldn't do the same for your sister. I saw the way you handled Possible. I hear the way you talk. Your no PC pansy."

And then Whitler was right in David's face, "all well and good bright boy but as I said you didn't think it through and this dirtbag could be dead right now and the responsibility for his death and for Kim Possible, teen hero, who's kept your misbegotten ass out of slavery more than once, for her going to prison for manslaughter, would rest very heavily on you wouldn't it. As would the kidnapping, false imprisonment and accessory to murder. Your in college to learn how to _think_ asshole, not to get your head smacked around inside that football helmet!"

"Y—yes ma'am," he stuttered.

Whitler backed away and motioned toward the Jock. "Untie him."

She then turned and walked over to Kim who was in the process of getting shakily to her feet.

"You okay," the coach as in a voice only for the teens ears.

"Are you kidding? I'm ready to kill you, I _want_ to kill him—"

"But—" Whitler started—

Kim's one hand was holding her cheek that was already starting to turn color. The other hand angrily waved the coach off. "Yeah, yeah, I get the message. And I guess I should be thankful. With my luck I'd have Shego as my prison roommate at some point. That doesn't mean that I have to like letting the jerk get away with it."

Whitler gave the teen a tight smile. "Now that was never said."

Kim's head came up sharply, eyes angry but questing.

"He's already had the ever loving shit scared out of him this evening. First being kidnapped and brought here, then your grand charge at him. I think he's peed his pants. But then add to that that word will get out around Upperton about him. First thought Traci's brother, and I'm sure that a lot of the other Pony Girls as well as girls at Middleton have brothers and sisters at Upperton that will know about this no later than next Tuesday morning. I would say by next Friday night he's gonna have an awful hard time getting a date and an awful easy time running into unhappy boyfriends, older brothers or boyfriends of older sisters."

Whitler's head then cocked to the other side and her voice dropped even lower. "At the same time, I do believe that it would do you some cathartic good to have some words with him," Kim's eyes got big, "as long as you are in control of yourself and do not do any physical damage that would require . . . medical treatment (Kim sucked in a breath)."

Whitler abruptly turned back to the group. The Jock was standing between David and the other player now, rubbing at his freed wrists, looking at Whitler as his savior, anger on his face as if he expected her to have the entire group walked back to the main camp and taken into custody. "I have had my say about the moral and legal ramifications that you have all incurred. My main problem was that the target of all the wrath," and she suddenly fixed her icy stare on the Jock who suddenly became acutely uncomfortable, "was that he was helplessly tied to a chair. When one is in that position, it is not possible for us to see them shiver, cringe and piss themselves." A collective gasp went up from the group and the Jock turned pale.

Whitler's eyes tore holes through the Jock and held him in his place. "We have heard but a bit of what a 'ladies man' you are worm. For that's what butterflies like you are. Larva that feed off of helpless flowers. No balls like true swingers who at least let their girls know that they play the field. You play with and tear apart hearts because you have none. Only gonads. And that's all you care about."

Whitler stood up straight and squared her shoulders. "I made a statement earlier to a couple of these young ladies about spending eight years as a senior NCO catching enlisted personnel in deer-in-the-headlight mode. Well . . . that means I spent sixteen years as one of those enlisted pukes doing whatever it was that we didn't want to be found doing. That's a two to one ratio ladies and gentlemen which I believe constitutes a majority."

The Coach swiveled her head to look at Kim, "Ms Possible, the ball is in your court." And with that, Whitler turned and walked all the way back to by the door where she leaned against the wall with arms folded.

The Jock stumbled the two steps back until the chair behind him stopped his movement. He could not go any further nor could he look around for an escape route for his eyes were locked with two enormous emerald ones that were approaching his, visions of his death in them—

If he was lucky.

"I'm not going to make this a long speech," Kim growled, her voice thick with too many emotions for even her to count. "Cause you probably aren't capable of understanding most of what I want to say to you. Nor, now that I'm almost calm and somewhat in control, do I really plan on hurting you." His eyes went even wider if that was possible.

She gave him an evil smile. "Oh, don't let it go to your head Jerk Off! That consideration is strictly for all the rest of the kids here from Block City that went through all the thought, and effort to get you. I don't want _them_ to get into trouble because of something I did to you."

Then Kim stepped right up to him, purposely pressing her chest into his. "But let me tell you this _Jerk Off_! Nothing I can do can make you stop what your doing to other girls. But I have access to an extensive intelligence and information network and your name is going to the top of the trivia file." The sweat broke out on his forehead. "Let me hear _once_ Jerk Off of you getting a girl pregnant or that STD has become involved, then some night your going to wake up in your dark bedroom . . . and I'm going to leave the rest to your imagination, as lame as it may be. But it will be no dream, and I will have no mercy nor will there be any coach to stop me."

"We did this Bud," spoke up David, "because as bad as you've treated all the other girls, at least you had the sense to keep your mouth shut because you knew what would happen if you didn't. But in this case it was different wasn't it. You were actually hoping that Possible would come after you weren't you."

Kim looked over, "What?"

"Tell her Bud. Tell her what you said to Sammy when you got real drunk a couple of weeks ago."

"I—I—" was all the Jock could stammer as now his whole face was sweating.

Kim's hand shot up and grabbed him by the throat in a C-Clamp—

"A—alright," he choked and Kim relaxed the hold enough for him to talk. "I got money for selling my story on you okay. But I need more. I'm already paying child support on a kid from a girl in South Bend."

Kim's face started to snarl and her fingers started to twist—

"Look," he almost screamed, "I friggin sorry alright. It was a mistake. I needed the money."

"And just what were you going to do to get more?" Kim growled.

The plain terror of a trapped and doomed animal crossed his face, "I—"

"That dark night in your bedroom is getting closer by the minute," Kim hissed starting to squeeze again.

"I had it set up with the scandal mag to run into you sometime during the Thanksgiving break."

Shock blanked Kim's face and her hold relaxed enough for him to say, "Knowing that you would probably freak, they would be ready with cameras. They would pay any medical bills and all my attorneys' fees for the lawsuit that I would file against you. Meanwhile they would have exclusive rights to my story and my side during the proceedings. And I would get a big fat check from them along with whatever I could squeeze out of you."

Kim's hand dropped away and she actually stepped back two steps as she looked at the Jock as if he was an alien life form. Traci spoke up from behind. "That's why we did this for you Possible. While your no friend of mine, at the same time you weren't the only one he corrupted and at the same time, you are someone special in this world in a special way and especially after the Diablo's, we all owe you something."

And the Pony's Captain strode right up and 'SLAPPED' the Jock across the face. "Just as I owe you that and a lot more you son of a bitch."

Traci then stepped to the side and looked back at the still, horrified Kim. "At least with me and all the others, it was do it and move on to the next one. But with you Possible, he was after blood. As in money. And we couldn't let it go that far." Traci looked back to Whitler standing in the far back and said defiantly, "_that's_ why we brought him here tonight. No, we didn't think of the possible reactions before hand." Then she looked at the Jock with hateful eyes. "But they certainly would have been his due if Possible had ripped his heart out. _I_ certainly wouldn't have cried for him. More-in-likely I'd of pissed on his grave." And with that, Traci back away, once again leaving Kim alone confronting the now thoroughly terrified Jock.

Kim's face slowly folded into one of absolute disgust, total anger, complete hatred, and overwhelming loathing, with her voice husky with matching tones—

"You are a total and complete Jack Off. And you know how I know? Let me spell it out to you as your obviously too completely wrapped up to have a clue otherwise."

Kim cast a quick glance back at Traci and had to clear a catch in her throat before going on. "I have told only my most intimate friends about our encounter and then only in veiled terms that gave very little real information about what happened. Part of the reason why is because of the cloud that I was left in from what happened." She had to stop and swallow hard. "When I saw you a year ago, you were the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen and everything about you from what I saw at the time to the memories of what happened were all wrapped in this translucent fog. _I_ wasn't clear on a lot of what I was feeling and of what happened."

Then Kim strode up to him, reached down with her one hand and grabbed him—

"Aaahhheeeeee!" he squealed as he went up onto his toes.

"Then," she sawed into him with a voice worthy of Whitler, "the scandal rag came out and it blew the fog away. I spent long hours going over what it said in that filthy article and replaying in my mind what actually happened and it's amazing what you realize when your eyes come open and anger makes you examine the feelings of the moment."

"Do you know what I realized Jerk Off," she snapped with a jerk of her hand that brought a scream and a rearing up in response, "I realized that I had romanticized and beautified the entire incident in my mind strictly because of the spell you had me under. Do you know that Jerk Off? You do! Because THAT's what you got! And you know something; you were so wrapped up in yourself and that single moment that that was ALL you got. But you know something else's? I was so enamored with you, that you could have had more. You had me so blown away that you could have had what no other boy has had even to this day. And do you know _why_ you didn't get more that what you got?"

Kim's other hand snapped back up to his throat and forced his squirming head back down and around so that his eyes had to look into hers where bottomless rage met endless horror.

"Looking back," she hissed into his wheezing, gasping, pale face, "I realized that never once in that encounter did you ever _do anything._ You never touched me, you never stroked or caressed me, you never even _tried_ to kiss me. You just lay there like a master to be administered too, not giving a good GodDamn about my feelings, my pleasure, _nothing_. I was a tool to be used on you, nothing more. And NOBODY USES ME!" and she jerked and squeezed both sites simultaneously.

The Jock screamed as best he could through his constricted windpipe and his eyes started to roll back into his head. Kim immediately released him and whipping around behind him, used a modification of the police chokehold to take him down to a sitting position. But she didn't press it. She wanted him conscious. She wasn't finished with him yet. And she had something to say that was for him only, this being a perfect position to whisper into his ear.

"All right ass," she breathed to him once she was sure he was coherent enough to understand her. "I'm about to finish this little talk of ours but before I do, I have something else to tell you. I—" and she had to stop as she herself choked and the tears came and portions of her heart and soul that had closed opened up and she felt the tears carrying away the shame and the pride—being replaced with love and a different kind of pride—

"I have a boyfriend who loves me and whom I care for so much that I choke on that same word when I try to say it of him. And while we have not yet taken that step, it is inevitable that at the right moment in our lives, we will and we will know passion and pleasure and love that your numb nuts could never even conceive of. But I do know something else. On my seventeenth birthday, I was kidnapped by a muscle-bound, egotistical, spoiled, rich jerk. Someone just like you except for the rich part, who intended to make me his wife whither I wanted to or not. My boyfriend followed and fought for me against both that thick headed jerk and his sneaky, stab-in-the-back father who shot my boyfriend through the thigh with a harpoon gun when he was about to kick the daddy's precious little baby boys ass all the way to Malta."

Kim lifted just her head up and around; grabbing the hair with her free hand and pulling the Jock's head back so that once again their eyes met, close and fierce. "For three hours, until medical help summoned by our computer monitor arrived, I had to hold my fingers in that wound in his thigh to keep him from bleeding to death from the nick to the artery in his leg as he would go in and out of consciousness from the pain and blood loss. In order to do so, I had to pull both his pants and his blood soaked boxers off in order to get a good grip. And while I was more than a little busy and preoccupied at the time, since then I've had a chance to go back in my mind and . . . shall we say, remember the territory around were the wound was. And when I compare what I saw there with what I remember from my little experience with you Jerk Off—"

Kim leaned in until her nose was almost touching the Jocks, "compared to Ron Stoppable Jerk Off, you're a mare and he's a stallion."

Despite his predicament, the Jock blinked and managed to wheeze, "but a mare is a girl horse."

At which point Kim grinned triumphantly. "My point exactly."

At which point she dropped back in behind him, slapped a carotid choke hold on him, locked it up as his eyes bulged out, his tongue lolled, he lost control of his bodily functions—

The assembled group watched in silence as the unconscious body toppled over when Kim stepped back and away. She looked at David, "you might want to have him strip and wash in that almost frozen lake water before he gets into your van so he doesn't stink it up." She then reached over and touched his arm with a soft, "thank you." He just smiled in return.

Kim then turned and walked away, not looking back, head high, that certain lost spring in her step returned. She stopped next to Traci and while she could not bring herself to look at the Asian girl, her voice was heartfelt, "you have no idea how much I appreciate this—"

"I think I do," the petite girl interrupted her. "You can get away with doing things that others of us would get arrested for. He'll never tell anybody what happened to him here tonight. But the rest of us will make sure that it is well known. And that way, every girl he's ever wronged will have their revenge thanks to you."

"And you," Kim insisted now turning wet eyes to Traci. "It took a lot of guts."

Traci shook her head. "Not guts. Anger. Pure anger."

Kim nodded knowingly. "Been there."

Traci nodded back. "Good luck. With the Mad Dogs at State and with getting your life back."

Kim just nodded again with a trembling lower lip. She then looked back toward the door and walked toward it. The Mad Dogs all gave nods and waves to the Pony's as they filed in behind her and out. Finally, Whitler stood; she unfolded her arms and pushed herself away from the wall. She walked with a firm stride over toward the now slowly moving figure of the Jock who was staring to come around, coughing and gagging—

"You Pony's get back to the camp and forget that you ever saw this until you get back to Block City. Not a word to _anybody_ in this place lest the County Sheriff come down on us all." She looked to Traci and said, "make sure what I said is followed. I'm holding you responsible. Take care of it Captain." The girls back went straight and she nodded, turning to start herding the other squad members out.

Whitler watched to make sure they were well on her way then turned with hands on her hips to David and the other player standing by the now retching Jock who was wrapped in a fetal position holding his groin, "Okay, boys, as all of us are adults, I'll help you clean up this garbage so there can be no question of abusive treatment." She then smiled maliciously, "he deserves so much more of it."

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"Kim, a—are you okay?"

Once they had gotten back to the main part of the camp, Tara had gently pulled Kim aside, sending the rest of the squad on ahead to their cabin.

"I—, I don't know."

Tara looked about and still leading Kim (who was holding her other hand in front of her eyes as if in pain) by the hand, slowly took her into the first available place that had any expectation of privacy—

Which with everybody else down by the lake at the bonfire and the main hall was the female staff bathroom. Tara brought Kim in and after maneuvering her into a chair, quickly locked to door behind them.

Once Tara had moved a second chair so that she could sit right in front of Kim—

"Tara, you don't—"

"Kim, that had to be an awful draining experience."

The redhead dropped towards the floor and stayed there for several moments. Then, in a tone that was part question, part apology, part challenging, "it was awful, it was wonderful, it was frightening, it was thrilling, it was—" Kim sucked in a breath. "God, I feel like I'm gonna be sick."

Tara pushed the other girl down to where Kim's head was down between her knees. Then the blond gently massaged the others girls neck and upper back with sure, steady fingers—

"Tara—"

"Yes Kim,"

"Do—do you hate me for what just happened?"

The blond girl had to take in a long, slow breath before she answered. "The Christian in me is . . . disappointed . . . and appalled by what just happened. I did not expect something like that when the Pony Captain came to me . . . "

Tara then leaned down atop Kim's back so that she could hug her from that place. "But the teen girl in me has to reluctantly approve of that . . . rotten person's being made aware of his transgressions and that now everybody else will be as well."

Now's Tara's voice went even softer. "And as your friend, despite my . . . disapproval of what happened; I really do hope that it was a help to you. That it healed or was a closure or something that made it more than just a senseless act of—"

"Violence?" Kim finished for her. "Terrorism? The brutality of the Mob? Isn't that what it was if we strip it to the bare bones?"

Tara closed her eyes as if in pain. "Kim, I'm sorry if—"

And they came open again when she heard Kim manage a strained chuckle followed by, "no, it's okay Tara. I'm just wondering how much you understand? Understand just how much violence is a part of my world. I don't take sixteen styles of Kung Fu for my good looks."

Tara released Kim, the both of them sitting up. Kim was wiping at misting eyes, looking a little better in the dim light. Tara just sat and looked at her, her face clearly showing that she was afraid to say any more on the topic they were discussing.

Kim had to hesitate for a moment before— "so I take it that you don't—"

Tara reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, "you're a _nut_. Of course I don't hate you. You are the most amaz—"

Kim's hands shot up to grab Tara's wrists and pain clouded over her face, "please don't!"

Tara's eyes went wide with shock then her mouth formed an 'O'—

Kim closed her eyes tiredly. "I have come to the conclusion that one reason why I lost it so badly is that I allowed far too many people to think of me as some kind of super teen or even worse," and now a look of loathing came to her face, "the 'Princess of Middleton High'." Her eyes then flicked back over to Tara. "It hurts Tara, really bad."

Slowly the blond girl recovered her arms, understanding coming into her face. "I can see it," she said, "but at the same time, you _are_ special. The most special girl in the world. How many other fifteen, sixteen and seventeen year olds have been doing what you and Ron have been—" and Tara abruptly shut her mouth when Kim sudden tears flooded Kim's eyes and she flopped her face into her hands and started to weep.

_Now I understand_ Tara thought.

Tara came down off her chair to kneel before Kim, her hands going out to take the crying teens away from her face, gathering them up in her own, holding them with sure strength as that face, with those huge emerald eyes now those of a small, frightened child looked out on her—

"He loves you," Tara said simply, trying to look directly into Kim's soul. "He will be waiting for you."

"I **_HIT_** him! I insulted and cursed his honor! I **_HURT_** him Tara. And I did it on purpose! And we both _knew_ it!" Kim shook her head violently, the tears flying from her eyes, "GOD! He's got to _hate_ me!"

"KIM!" Tara said sharply, "your exhausted, emotionally tweaked, you've just had a close encounter with a jerk of the worst kind, you CANT think straight at this point so **_DON'T_** try to think about whatever happened between you and Ron. Just listen to me."

Kim's eyes came back to her as she waited, open mouthed, almost panting with anxiety—

Tara looked at her with a deadly serious face. "Ron is, for many reasons, just as special as you are. For that reason, I love him—"

Shock now filled Kim's face, knowing where Tara had once been—

But the blond girl held up one hand. "I love him, as I do you, as the very special people that you are, I pray every night for your safety and your success against all the terrible things you encounter and all the evil people you meet." But the hand dropped and a sad, 'what if' look came to Tara's face. "Yes, if things had worked out differently, I would have loved to be able to _love_ Ron Stoppable. Knowing all the various sides of him intimately must be a joy to you. And I know that for those of us who have taken the time to _look_ at him, past the 'looser' that only the contempt of Bonnie and her Food Chain can see, we can see so much more," and Tara just had to grin, "even if it is buried under piles of hopeless klutz."

Even Kim had to snort a laugh at that.

Tara's smile faded. "There are those kids who have asked me, why I didn't go for it?"

Kim's eyes came back up, there was a slightly haunted look to them at the edges, but when she saw it, Tara just shook her head. "Are you kidding, I'd as soon stand on the railroad tracks in front of a speeding freight train. _Anyone_ at Middleton who had their eyes open and didn't have their perceptions colored by other prejudices _knew_ that you two were meant for each other and that it was only a matter of time before you two figured it out at well."

Kim's mouth came back open and hung limply.

Tara shook Kim's hands in hers. "You two are _life_ partners. You've been together _forever_. And as much as you're together, your also separate parts that make the whole. Ron is the solid, stable base. You are the fiery passion of spirit."

Tara stopped and marshaled her thoughts. "Do—do you really think, if you went back to him, with him knowing what you've been going through, that while he may be hurt and he may be angry, that he wouldn't take you back? That would be like him rejecting his own emotional fire because that's _exactly_ what you are, just as he is your rock of stability."

And Kim's eyes dropped and her shoulders started to tremble—

"Kim? What—?"

"I did it to myself Tara. I shut him out. There was so much pain, I didn't want to feel it—"

Tara came up off her knees and engulfed the shaking girl in an embrace— "but if you had, he could have shared the pain, the two of you could have carried each other though it—"

"It's all my fault, my fault—"

"Kim hush! Don't think fault! Don't think blame! There is no blame in things like this! There is only learning for tomorrow so that it doesn't happen again!"

Tara, half standing, gently rocked the red-haired girl for the longest time.

Finally, with a sniffling voice, Kim managed, "have I told you that you have totally and completely amazed me this week. I am like, totally blown away."

Tara laughed lightly. "Thank you. It's nice that not everyone in the world looks at me like the stereotype bubble-headed gum-chewing blond 'cheerleader' even though I am blond, I do chew gum and I am a cheerleader."

Kim managed a giggle. "I'm feeling better," and when Tara removed her arms, she gingerly sat upright. She once again had to hold her head for a second, but then she looked up at Tara and said, "thank you so much for—"

Tara held up her hands. "We should be thanking you. It was your coming back to the squad—."

Kim reached out and grabbed Tara's hand. "Don't you _see_? If it wasn't for you practically demanding that of me the other day, it wouldn't have pushed me to do the personal fight that I had to do to find myself. And then, what you have been doing here and now?"

Tara smiled, "well, the next time that Josh and I have a problem, I run to you to cry on your shoulder."

Kim gave her a look. "I . . . imagine that you're a little more . . . conservative in some areas than I was."

Tara sighed and nodded. "He's dropped some broad hints," and then she grinned, "and I always immediately invite to 'get intimate with God' and invite him to church. And believe it or not, he goes. But the hints are getting fewer and farther between."

Kim just shook her head with a smile.

Tara gave Kim a steady look. "Are you going to be okay with Ron?"

Kim's eyes misted slightly but she nodded. "Yeah. I know your right. And its not that it's scary I guess, just awkward and embarrassing—"

Tara raised an eyebrow, "just a normal, regular teenage girl then?"

Kim gave her an incredulous look, then burst out with a quick laugh. "Gotcha," she agreed.

Tara grinned. "Your more than welcome among us girlfriend."

Kim got up and came over engulfing Tara in a hug. "It's so good to be there girlfriend."

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"Kim?"

Kim opened her eyes. She was sitting in the front passenger seat of the van, three-quarters turned around using the headrest as a pillow. As she raised her drowsy head, she saw the rest of the squad, all in various states and positions of collapse across the rear seats (Sherrie was small enough to be all the way over and was using Hopes lap for a pillow).

"Kim?" came the call again and now she looked over at Whitler. The Coaches face was a mask of concentration and it wasn't just on the road as she drove the van containing the Mad Dog Squad back home. She was clearly thinking hard about something.

Stifling a yawn, Kim managed a, "yes ma'am?"

Whitler waited a moment as if carefully considering her question. "I've spent a lot of time after last night thinking about that idiot Jock and his scandal rag. Those news towels usually stick to current events or gossip or rumor. How in the hell did they get a hold of that dips blog? Someone _else_ had to point it out to them. I mean, there's millions of the bloody things out there, and as far as I know, has there been a single story about any other celebrity centered on some snotty kids blog before or since? It's like you were singled out for some reason." Whitler snatched her with a quick glance off of the road. "Have you given this any thought?"

Kim blinked a couple of times as she tried to assimilate this information and put her mind in gear. She frowned. "No, not really. I mean, I've been the subject of a lot of stupid articles of the past couple of years. I've never paid any attention to them. I've never _wanted_ to pay attention to them."

"There was the Jock, there was the hidden camera thing, there was that Oriental Spy thing—"

Kim snorted. "He's actually an agent for Global Justice and that got almost no press coverage here in the U.S. because Homeland Security clamped a lid on it. That and the fact that I _detest_ him simply for his massive ego—"

Whitler shook her head. "Have there been others that 'we' the people haven't heard about?"

Kim shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, isn't that enough?"

"How about the rest of your family? Anything there?" Whitler pressed.

Kim looked at the Coach with naked apprehension. "I'm sorry but this might be important," Whitler said gently.

Kim shrugged. "Well, the closed portions of the Diablo hearings in Congress were about over when this one Senator suddenly came out of nowhere and started accusing my dad of actually conspiring with Drakken. Said he'd discovered new evidence that showed that my dad had received kickbacks to support his research in the Hesphaestus project which had come from Bueno Nacho while under Drakken's control. Transactions, memo's that my dad and Drakken exchanged. It took NSA computer forensic experts to show that they were phony and the investigation is still going on but it was really tweaked there for a while."

Whitler nodded slowly. "Anything else?"

Kim just shrugged.

"Nothing with you mother?"

Kim held her hands out helplessly. "Well, there was this absolute _rash_ of medial malpractice lawsuits filed against her a couple of weeks ago. Over a hundred of them. All of them supposedly involving Diablo patients she operated on. But none of the patient records, none of the hospital records can be found but the others guys lawyers, some crackpot firm headquartered on an old oil rig in the North Sea and therefore not subject to normal regulations, wont come forward with clarifying information and just keeps filing motions and demands her appearances and threatening warrants, sanctions and having her license revoked."

Whitler's eyes narrowed even further. "Kim," she said in a low voice, "have you ever heard the theory of the probability of military action?"

Kim just looked at her.

Whitler held up fingers as illustrations. "Once is an accident, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action. Coming from a twenty-year plus military career, I think some one is attacking you Kim. A planned, coordinated, organized attack on you and yours for reasons that at this point, only they may know. Does that make any sense to you?"

Kim looked at Whitler, denial screaming in her mind but the logical side of her Alpha Female embracing it as well. She faced front, saying softly, "I don't know, I just don't know." And the problem was, that she really didn't.

And that scared her.


	18. Restoration

Homicide _n. _**1. **The killing of any human being by another.

Homicidal. Describing how Kimberly Anne Possible was starting to feel towards her Cheer Coach for getting her all riled up thinking about what was going on in her world when what she was _trying_ to concentrate on, when what she was all wrapped up in, when all she was tied up inside and outside in double overhand reverse slip-shank knots over was—

_What_ was she going to do about . . . when they at last arrived at home?

The dozing she had been doing prior to Whitler's startling pronouncement had been fitful but had only crept up on her because she had gotten almost _no_ sleep the night before due to the painful agonized anticipation of the ten thousand unknowns that could be greeting her—

Yeah sure, everybody said that Ron would forgive her and take her back (and she supposed heck she in reality she hoped knew in her heart of hearts that _she_ was sure of it as well)that made her head hurt, there was just so much l—l—lo—argh . . . . he loved her so much and she felt the same way right back at him, but at the same time there _had_ to be repercussions from what she had done to him. Not even Ron, sweet, silly, goofy, gentle, straight and true Ron could _not_ come out of what she had done to him without _some_ kind of anger or at least very badly hurt feelings.

And it wasn't that she didn't know what to do. That was sooo obvious. It was how did she do it? How could she possibly show Ron just how totally, completely, ultimately, and utterly sorry and aware of her responsibility she was for what had happened.

But, while she was trying to get some kind of a handle, make up some kind of a plan, desperately trying to find a strategy to tackle what had to be the most difficult confrontation she had ever anticipated, Whitler had distracted her with an all too realistic and probable explanation for everything that had been happening the last several months out beyond Bonnie! She didn't have the time or the mental energy for _that!_ Not at this exact moment anyway. Her absolute number-one, top-of-the-list priority at this moment in her whole existence was reconciliation with Ron Stoppable and _anything_ that hindered or delayed that—

"Look!" squealed Marcella, trying to bounce up out of her seat despite her belt, "there's a crowd waiting for us!"

"Oh goody," Kim said under her breath as she felt her insides get even more shaky at the sight that greeted them as the front of Middleton High came into view. She was not _ready_ for any of this. She'd simply wanted to was run home, make up with her parents and try to find some quiet time in her room with some of Ron's things to gather her courage . . . and now . . . and Barkin was there at the head of the pack and there were signs and posters and the band and _everything_.

Kim jumped against her own seatbelt at a gentle hand on her shoulder and she snapped her head about to see Tara, understanding and worry filling her eyes. "It's okay," the blond said softly. "Just hang in a little longer. I'll get us all out as soon as I can."

Kim smiled weakly in thanks.

Whitler had said nothing in the hours since her startling statement and now her face was just as neutral and unfeeling as of old as she turned the van into the drive where the yells and screams of the gathered could be heard. Tara was giving quick, brisk instructions to the other girls, "and Kim . . . Kim?"

Kim's eyes were locked on the periphery of the crowd, on the figure standing apart from everybody else, on the face of her mother. Her mom wasn't smiling and her eyes were worried—

And Kim felt the happiness and recovery inside her start to scream in agony once again.

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Kim sat in the passenger seat of her mothers van, her face dropped into her hands. Amazingly enough, she was _not_ crying. In fact, she was surprised how she was not as upset about what had happened to Monique as she thought she should be. She heard Whitler's words echoing in the back of her mind, demanding her attention because the Coach's theory was the only possible explanation but she didn't _want_ to, not yet. She wanted _nothing_ yet until she had addressed and settled the single **_most important thing_** in her life—

And to say that she was _more_ than scared to death to address that thing was an understatement as all the other pressures built up around her.

But nothing, _nothing_ would distract or sidetrack her from doing what she had to do. For all that other pressure was pale beside the pain, the agony, all of it from grief, guilt, embarrassment, anger, shame, none of which would go away until she made things right, until she got down on her knees in apology, until she offered herself for any punishment or sacrifice to atone for her wrongs, until she had to prostrate herself and beg for forgiveness—

And to find _some way_ to _tell_ Ron Stoppable that she l—l—lo—. . . . ed him.

Kim pulled her head upright and took a shuddering breath. She still couldn't say it. Not even to herself. Why? _WHY?_ After everything she had been through! It could be the _ONLY_ thing that might make Ron forgive her and she STILL COULDN'T SAY IT! _THAT_ started the tears running from her eyes.

"It's going to be alright honey."

Kim didn't know whither to cry or laugh and the gawdawful sound that came out of her throat was a combination of both.

"Kim?" in her moms most worried voice.

"I don't know what to do Mom," the teen blubbered.

"About Monique? I'm sorry honey, but I don't think that even you can do anything right now."

"Nnnoooo," came the distraught wail. "Ron."

The "Oh," reply was short and curt followed by a long pause before a careful, "I know that things have been . . . rough . . . with you two. Ron wouldn't be specific though. Is—is there anything in particular that maybe I can help with?"

"Mom," Kim sobbed. "I can't say the words to him."

Her mom blinked a couple of times. "The words—"

"MOM!"

Mrs. Possible's hands left the wheel in a momentary gesture. "I'm sorry Kim but I just don't understand— What words cant you say to Ron?"

"That I L - - - - " came the almost scream.

"Calm down Kimmie," Mrs. Possible said looking at her daughter with a mixture of alarm and motherly compassion.

"Mom, I—"

"I said calm down dear," and Mrs. Possible gave her daughter her no-nonsense glare, which reduced the teen to sullen sniffles.

"That's better," Kim's mom continued. "We're almost home. You can shower, have a hot drink, and then we can talk about this—" and then with a firm nod toward her daughter, "calmly."

It was in moments in fact they were pulling up into the Possible driveway where the two of them got out. Kim had to admit that despite it all, the old house never looked so good. Kim, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, walked around to the rear of the van, waiting for her mom to pop the lock so she could retrieve her packs—

"Kimberly?"

She was to tired to 'spin' around, but pure surprise motivated it to be a rapid twirl about. And it was pure surprise on Kim's face as her abused, overly focused brain registered Ron mother warily making her way up the driveway from the sidewalk.

Once Mrs. Stoppable registered however, hostility came to the forefront and only the calming presence of her mother whom Kim instantly felt at her side, kept her tongue civil.

Mrs. Stoppable's eyes were locked on Kim except for a momentary flash to Mrs. Possible for a nod of greeting. Those eyes registered the hostility and seemed to acknowledge it. The face paled a little in response but the woman came on and when she spoke again, the voice was firm, the words steady.

"It's so good to see you feeling better and I wanted to congratulate you on helping the cheer squad achieve what it did."

That seemed to require a response so Kim just gave the older woman a sharp, angry nod.

Mrs. Stoppable then took what looked to be a steadying breath before, "I would like to talk to you alone about Ronald if I may. I promise to be brief for I imagine that you really do not want to listen to me much. But I have to apologize for many things and I wanted to do so before you went to see him."

Kim's eyes widened at her words and her face lost some of its hardness for she could hear and feel the woman's sincerity, but her anger, the memories and hurt that drove it was at the moment too fresh and painful to do much more. But Kim also could not deny that kind of sincerity so as hard as it was; she looked to her mother and gave her a nod of acceptance which her mother returned in kind.

After the two of them were left alone, Mrs. Stoppable lost some of her composure at the moment of truth. But the strength and will found a way.

"I don't know if there is any point in trying to say I'm sorry so I'm wondering if it is even fair to try." That caused Kim's eyes and hackles to rise slightly but before things could get too far—

"Both of us were emotionally out of control for our own reasons. We know those reasons and there's no need to rehash it all. You can no more say your sorry to me for what you have done to Ron, to me and my husband, or to all the others you have affected, vandalized or abused than I can to you. Did either of us really mean what we said and did? And if we didn't, why apologize for it." Mrs. Stoppable eyes took and held Kim's with a look full of guilt and sadness. "Sure it would 'sound' nice but would it really mean anything? Would it, after all the damage we did to each other?" Now there was an accompanying shake of the head, "I think we need to do something a little more concrete than just a lip-service 'I'm sorry'. I'm not even sure what that thing might be. But I do know that since I was the one that created this particular breach, I'm the one that has to make the attempt to heal it. But while I am willing to make the peace offering, we both have to work toward that common goal. And the reality of it all is that _that _has to happen, you and I have to address this, deal with it, get past it and move on if you're going to become my daughter-in-law."

_That_ hit Kim like a slap in the face with a wet mackerel. _Did I just hear that right?_ Her entire stance, feelings and bearing was shifted and shaken,

Seeing the reaction actually brought a crooked smile to Mrs. Stoppable's face. "Ron has pretty much told me to get use to the idea," the older woman said with a trace of humor and a whole lot of resignation. Her face then got very serious. "You do know how much he loves you don't you?"

Kim, still in the throes of trying to readjust her thinking, her feelings, felt herself choke almost completely at the question for it had only one answer, "I have every idea."

Mrs. Stoppable considered this a moment then nodded. "And he says that you love him so much that you can't even say the words 'I love you' to him. You just choke when you try to say those words the feelings are so intense."

This time it was all Kim could do to nod. And Mrs. Stoppable could only shake her head as if—

"And I freely acknowledge that you two have been inseparable for years, that you bring out the best in each other, that you seem to have a bond that most people could only dream about having sometime in their life—"

Now Mrs. Stoppable had to take a moment and a breath. "But at the same time, Kimberly Possible, don't either of you see that just the very fact that you can't do as simple an act as say the words 'I love you' to my son because you love him so intensely, how much that kind of thing scares me. Such intensity may _not_ be a good thing for it can cause conflict, jealously, misunderstanding and goodness knows what else. You two have had a fair amount of problems in your relationship in the short amount of time since you moved from just being friends as it is."

And now Mrs. Stoppable's eyes darkened. "And yes, I'm afraid that I have to admit that I think that in the last year or so, you have become a little too . . . . unstable. I think there are times that you are downright wild. Under certain conditions I think you're crazy and uncontrollable, as if that emotion changer device did something to your brain or as if you have gotten so much into this heroine thing that you might be pushing it to the point in _all_ aspects of your life where you're a danger to yourself and definitely toward my Ronald." Mrs. Stoppable had to stop and bite her lip a moment before continuing in a grudging tone, "but he seems to think that he can control you. At least he could until one night last week. Now he has a bruised, swollen lip—"

Kim felt her face flare bright red and her insides twist like a pretzel as she started to open her mouth to—

"But," Mrs. Stoppable raised a forestalling hand, "Ron said that it was okay, that actually, it happened because he _was_ in control, and you didn't like it. And that it's his belief, that once you realized what you did, that—"

"It will never, _never_, happen again, Mrs. Stoppable," Kim finished with her hands coming up in front of her in a stance of forgiveness. "Your son humbled me and proved himself a man of courage and strength far beyond mine that night. And I owe him more that I can possibly repay for what he did. And one way that I will repay him, is by giving him all my devotion, care, honor, respect and . . . that blasted word that I can't say until the day we both leave this world."

Kim pulled herself upright and running hands through her askew hair, trying (hopelessly she knew) to make herself more presentable to her 'future mother-in-law', "I know that I come across at times like a loose cannon when I comes to my relationship with Ron, but somehow, someway, we've always been there for each other up until the time, well, the two times, both of which were my fault, that things got screwed up. One involved a Syntho-Drone named Eric which blinded me to where my loyalties and l—l . . . affection really lay. The other involved when I became so lost and distraught by the distraction of what I 'thought' was my perfect world falling apart, that I lost sight and touch with my 'true' and real world, the one that really mattered."

Kim actually managed to kind of shrug a shoulder. "I think I remember saying to Doctor Drakken, yeah, yeah, its hard, boys, dating. But I'm a teenage girl learning what all teen girls have to learn. I'm just stuck at times having to do it on a world stage in High Definition like a celebrity. I truly wish I could just be like a regular girl. But I am who I am. And I like me. And Ron loves me. And I . . . him." (Kim's face paling with the strain) So while I've made mistakes and I probably will continue to do so, in the end, I always, _always_ find myself coming back around to Ron Stoppable, and that is an unstoppable fact." She then gave Ron's mom a brilliant smile. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

Ron's mom was watching her with unfathomable eyes. "And you love my son?" was the flat question.

Kim smile continued. "I would say I . . . him so much that I would die for him. But I don't want to die for him. That's because I want to live forever _with_ him. Because the most important thing your son has given me is tomorrow. And that is something I _can't_ repay." Kim had lost the smile as the feelings took her forcing her to take a choked swallow. "I intend to dedicate the rest of my life to trying to though."

The older woman's eyes continued to watch her, and Kim resolutely stared back. Mrs. Stoppable finally asked, in kind of a whining tone, "will you _ever_ calm down?"

Kim managed an almost sad smile and said, "let's hope so ma'am. I have learned an awful lot about myself this week so maybe—"

"How much did you really learn?" asked Mrs. Stoppable with an incredulous look. Kim looked back, the question in her eyes and Ron's mom raised a hand to her cheek. Kim's in response came up to her own cheek, still tender and a lovely multicolor shade from Whitler's backhand.

"It's a long story ma'am," was all the teen could say.

Ron's mom snorted. "I'm sure it is."

Mrs. Stoppable then gave a long, slow sigh. "Alright." She then kind of turned her head a little to the side, "I'll say it despite it all. I'm sorry for—" and her head dropped as if in shame, "for doing what I did to break you and Ronald up."

Kim felt her anger and hurt, which had faded bubble back up again. But now she had a firm grip and knew the right thing to do. She couldn't keep her voice from being tight and edgy, but— "I guess at the heart of it, I understand ma'am. I don't think I can forgive you for it, but I _can_ move beyond it. And I can do it because we have been friends. You've been like a second parent to me for as long as Ron and I have been together, and I can understand you concern and fear considering everything that has been going on the last couple of months. It hasn't been easy for anybody involved."

Kim held out both of her hands to Mrs. Stoppable. The older woman looked over, and without hesitation reached out tightly clasping her hands in the teens.

"I'm sorry too," Kim continued, squeezing the older woman's hands in hers, "for being the source of so much pain and confusion and I will try very hard in the future to keep my wits about me and my temper under control. I do l—l—lo—"

Mrs. Stoppable looked up in wonder, "you really can't say it, can you?"

Kim had closed her eyes and was gritting her teeth. It was all she could do to shake her head no as she fought back frustrated tears.

Mrs. Stoppable pulled one hand free which she used to cup the cheek which wasn't bruised. "You do love him that much. I can't deny that any more than I can stop the tide coming in." She gave the teen a trembling smile. "You two have my thoughts and best wishes and I look forward to the day when you two are joined."

Kim could only mouth 'thank you' before starting to turn—

Mrs. Stoppable held her hands firm, her gaze becoming sharp as her voice said, "Ron told me, he would be waiting for you where he knew you would be." Kim could only blink against the tears and nod her thanks again before breaking off and running into the garage, into the house.

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A few minutes later, Mrs. Possible came up the steps into Kim's loft. She could barely suppress a weary, heartfelt smile at the sight of her seventeen year daughter lying on the bed, curled tightly around a cuddlebunny representing a cross between a panda and a kangaroo, a stuffed toy which up to minutes ago had been carelessly tossed on a pile of items in the corner labeled 'Throw Away'.

Mrs. Possible came around to sit on the side of the bed behind Kim where she could watch her child's face in profile as she gently stroked her daughter's wildly askew red hair.

Kim's eyes were closed and leaking tears. The silence was broken by loud sniffles at intermittent times. A long time passed like this.

"Where's Dad?" Kim finally whispered. "It's the weekend, he should be home. Is he with the twins?"

Her mom smiled at the fact that Kim said 'twins' and not 'tweebs'. Her daughter really was glad to be home.

"We sent the twins to your Uncles ranch for a week. Their far enough ahead in their studies that they could do it without a problem and we thought it best that you had a quiet house to recover in." Mrs. Possible said softly, "Your Father is at the Space Center. Due to the damage done by the Diablo's along with all the lost time from the Congressional Hearings, they are way behind schedule on their latest probe. Its launch window is fast approaching and they have to finish with the cybertronic development phase of it as soon as they can. So, as of this week, they've all been working very long hours because they've entered a critical stage. Your Dad has even enlisted Felix to help."

Kim's eyes opened, she blinked once and then her head rotated to look at her mom. "What is Felix doing? Shouldn't he be with Monique?"

Her mom smiled sadly. "He's only allowed there on certain days and this is helping keep his mind busy. As his Mom is the lead engineer of this part of the project, the linking of your Dad's cybertronic devices through an interface that can be controlled by the human mind, which is what Mrs. Renton has been working with Felix for some time in regards to a mind-controlled wheelchair, Felix seemed to be the prefect one to run the initial tests on the interface."

Kim felt a vague unease in her gut which showed on her face.

Mrs. Possible stroked her daughter's hair again. "Don't worry honey. Your Father and Mrs. Renton would never do anything that could possibly endanger Felix. And your Father felt it would be better if he wasn't around today until you got your feet grounded and _we_ had a chance to talk undisturbed. "

But Kim couldn't shake the feeling.

"So," her mom ventured with a gentle tone, "do _you_ have any idea why you can't tell Ron that you love him?"

Kim's eyes snapped back to her mom in surprise.

Her mom's smile was apologetic. "I'm sorry dear but I listened in only because I wanted to make sure that nothing was said that was . . . . unfortunate."

Kim's look was still surprised and upset but her mother was unrepentant. "Mrs. Stoppable and I had some rather . . . firm words regarding what happened to you and the conversation between you and her. I'm not sure if our relationship is beyond repair or not, nor do I distrust her. But she was very bitter and . . . borderline malicious during our discussion and I'm afraid that I had to take that into account. I'm sorry if it upsets you but it's something that you'll understand when you're a mother someday."

Kim slowly turned her head back toward Pandaroo, clutching it even harder. "There's a lot that I understand now that I wish I didn't have too."

Her mom's smile turned sad. "Growing up?"

"More like growing old, ancient really," came out of the teen's mouth in a tired sigh.

"I've been there," was the equally tired agreement.

Kim sniffed mightily and said, "Mom, I love you and I'm so sorry—"

But before she could continue, her mother had come down and taken her and Pandaroo in an all-enveloping embrace. On moments, Kim twisted herself around to return the embrace and for the first time in many years, she fiercely hung onto her mother for dear life as the cleansing sobs erupted from her.

It was a long, soul-draining cry for the both of them as Kim let it _all_ out. While she may have told Whitler the story of what had happened with her and Ron, her mom got _all_ the gory details (right down to her insane-profane language which actually seemed to upset her mom more that the fact that she'd hit Ron). Her mom also gamely dealt with what it was that Kim had tried to get Ron to do (after a careful consideration of the circumstances).

Her mom immediately started to examine and explore her daughters current mental well being, leaving Kim forced to try and explain the past week at cheer camp, everything that had happened there and everything that Whitler had . . . and had not done.

Kim's mom was not amused, but when Kim insisted that she actually felt that it had done her worlds of good (although Kim was admitting to herself now that she was thinking it over that there _had_ to be better ways to do it)—

"The woman is insane," her mother growled. "I'm sure that all her time in the service gave her a perfect understanding of how to recognize and deal with the enlisted personnel that were her responsibility but _you_ were not in that kind of situation or category."

Kim gave her mother a look of gentle questioning. "Is it really any different than what Nana did for you after—"

Her mother's eyes went momentarily wide with shock, then narrowed dangerously. It was more than a minute before she answered tightly, "your Nana was an Officer with a whole lot more education and experience, almost forty years worth, with a much gentler approach over a period of months. Not a sledgehammer, non-com, barracks-style, hack job done in a week."

Kim looked away from her mother. "Well, I'm not going to argue about it. All I can tell you is that it seemed to work for me when I needed it. I can not say that I liked it or enjoyed it or would want to go through it again—"

He mom's face softened, "I hope you never have to go through anything like this again either honey." Her arms once again went around her daughter and pulled her to her, Kim flopping her head over onto her mom's shoulder.

"Why cant I say the words to Ron Mom?"

Mrs. Possible must have held onto her daughter for five minutes, once again stroking her hair. Kim, finally her face started to screw up and tears started to come while she choked, "you don't know either do you?"

Mrs. Possible hugged Kim harder and rocked her a little. "I'm thinking dear and I think the answer _why_ is quite simple. It's coming up with a cure for it that I'm having trouble with."

Kim pulled away from her mother, staring at her in wide-eyed disbelief. "Simple?" she whispered. "What mom? What is it?"

Her mother smiled sadly. "You're a victim of your own Blue Fox personality. That same personality that made you such an overly hyperactive, obsessively perfectionist soccer coach for the boys that their team voted you off because you were so overwhelming to them that you took the _fun_ out of it. That noted passion and intensity, which showed when you tired to sing and during rehearsal you _caused_ yourself to choke and your voice to break and crack. You were literally overwhelming yourself. When that talent contest actually happened and you showed up at the very last minute and you just went out and _did it_ with no time to think about it before hand—"

Kim lowered her gaze and blinked a couple of times before— "y—y—yo—you mean, I—I can't s—say, or even think, the words I l . . l . . ," she squeezed her eyes shut and with a sob continued, "I can't say or think the words I want to about Ron because I feel them so intensely that I shut myself down?"

"It's more like overload," her mother said gently. "From what I've heard, it's like a form of stuttering, only very issue specific."

"Mom?" Kim wailed in pure misery as the reality of it hit home.

Mrs. Possible gathered her daughter back to her. "Hush," she repeated in a soothing voice as Kim shuddered against her. "You need to calm down."

"How can I?" Kim wanted to know.

"Well," her mom said in her most reasonable voice, "first you can understand that love does not mean explosions, rockets, bright lights, unbridled passion and flames of fury 24/7." She firmly pushed her daughter away from her and dipped her head down, seeking and grabbing the teen's eyes with hers. "Love can, and should be, quiet and gentle as well. In fact, that's the way it should be most of the time if it's going to last decades. You can, and will, burn out if you expect it to be Dante's Inferno from Day One through Golden Anniversary." Her mother gave Kim a gentle shake. "Ron first and foremost is and has been your friend. Your feelings really shouldn't have changed for him that much except that you have added passion and commitment to the quotation. But, as far as you two, the commitment really isn't new because you two have been committed to each other since pre-k whither or not anybody else wanted to see it. So the only real new element is the passion."

And her mom stopped and took a deep breath, softening it with a resigned smile. "And knowing you, you would, sooner or later, jump in. That's why you got the full lecture at the age you did. And I, unlike your Father, don't _really_ have a problem with it as long as you remember everything we talked about then along with everything that applies now. And those would be that you and Ron are really ready, are sure of yourself and the moment, meaning no sudden, throwing all caution to the wind incidents, are taking all the necessary precautions and that you two have discussed and are aware of the possible repercussions of your actions and their associated responsibilities." She drove the point home with her eyes and Kim after a moment, nodded her own head in silent understanding, her tale of what had _almost_ happened hanging in the air between them like an almost visible presence.

Kim's mom held the gaze just a moment more then straightened back up. "It may well be Honey," she said in a voice that was once again gentle, "that you're allowing this new passion aspect of your relationship to get the better of you. My suggestion would be to . . . try to remove that except when it would be . . . appropriate. Try to go back to how you felt about Ron when he was just your friend."

"Mom," Kim sounded appalled. "I _like_ feeling that way about him. I feel . . . I didn't even feel for Josh the way I feel for Ron."

"Did you ever tell Josh you loved him?" her mom asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Kim blushed. "N—no. O—our relationship never reached that point."

"Then its not a fair comparison," her mom stated. "And while its nice to know that Ron _is_ so special to you, at the same time, that specialness might be what's causing you to not be able to tell him that you love him."

Kim shook her head in denial. "There has to be another way Mom."

Her mom shrugged. "I suppose that you could just try to relax around him. Not think about it. See that if you don't try so hard, that it _isn't_ so hard."

Kim rolled her eyes and her mother frowned at her daughter's flippant reaction, "I'm doing the best I can here. It's not my area of even minimal knowledge. The only reason I do know about it because it _is_ an issue involving the brain. As I said at the beginning, the reason was easy, the answer is hard."

Kim immediately reached out and hugged her mom. "I'm sorry Mom," she admonished hastily, "I know you're trying and I _am_ so grateful for everything. At least now I know _why_ and that in itself is just so great."

Her mom patted her shoulders. "It's alright dear. I didn't mean to snap. I'll check with some of the psych docs Monday morning and see which way they can direct me."

"You rock Mom. I know you'll do whatever you can."

"And I am so glad that you're home and that you're back to being you. You had both you're Father and I really worried there."

"I'm sorry—"

"Not now Honey. You go shower. I'll go get you something to eat. We can talk some more while you eat before—"

Kim swallowed hard. "I know, his Mom said he's waiting for me."

Her mom's look was full of love but had a hint of apprehension. "Is there anything else I can do before—"

Kim dropped her head and her mouth moved as if she was trying to say something. Her mom waited. It was almost a full minute before Kim could manage—, "there is something. In the Hope chest. Since I can't trust myself to be able to say the words, they might be able to convey to Ron just how I feel."

Surprise and wonder flooded her moms face. "You mean Nana's—?"

Kim nodded as if she was afraid that he mom wouldn't agree. She was almost angry with herself that she had even suggested it. But they could be her only hope.

Conflict ran back and forth across her mom's face for all of about five seconds before, "go shower. I'll go get them. Your Nana would want them used for this and it's just what they've been sitting there for."

"You ROCK Mom! I love you!"

"I love you too dear, now go!"

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Kim had been trying to imagine the fear and finality she had felt when she had been at her wits and physical end when being chased by the Spinning Tops of Doom, combined with the terror she'd known when she had thought that Ron had been blown up in that escape pod in the Artic, spiced with the sense of hopelessness that she had experienced in the Bueno Nacho Headquarters storeroom before Ron had brought her to her senses. Yet none of these combined even came close to what was literally rooting her to the ground at the base of Ron's treehouse as evening fell.

_His mom said he would be where he had known where I had been. And that was here. And to tell the truth, I have no memory of why I came here when I was lost and had lost it. But it had to be because it was the only place that I could find a piece of him, a piece of Ron. It's a place where we spent so much time together growing up but it was _his_ place where my room was mine. And I sought it out as a refuge in my darkest hour._

Then she took a shuddering breath. _And now I can't get my hands or feet to move toward it. Is it because the last time I was consciously here, was because I was trying to convince Ron that we were both growing up, that we were growing apart, and that he had to accept my relationship with Eric? I was so blind to what that was doing to Ron, that it was tearing him apart because he was in l. . . lo—_love_ with _me!_ But he didn't want to say anything in order to protect my happiness. Or is it because in the end, I am truly afraid that I've done more damage than I can repair and all that is up there is, please and thank you and . . . good bye?_

Kim closed her eyes and her entire body shook. _Come on girl! You can do anything! You can do this. You _have_ to do this!_ And she started talking to her hands and feet like they were naughty little boys and girls, getting them to move and grip as she slowly started forward and up.

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Ron Stoppable felt the tree start to vibrate. The fact that it was just the slightest of vibrations and that he couldn't _hear_ anybody coming up the ladder told him as sure as sight just who it was that was coming up.

His mouth was instantly dry and his insides, which had been tight all afternoon now tangled up like spaghetti in a pot of boiling water. He looked into the far corner where his eyes could see the opening in the floor without actually looking at it just as a all too familiar lion's mane of red hair poked up through the hole—

It was the multi-colored cheek that actually caused his head to involuntarily snap around in surprise and his mouth start to come open in shocked question before he was able to stop himself.

That movement did give Kim the opportunity to see the remnants of the now receding swollen lips and corner of mouth on Ron's face. Her insides clenched harder to her own astonishment and the accompanying tidal wave of shame and guilt that came with it. As a result, she found that she couldn't make it all the way up through the opening. After several moments of struggling, it was all Kim could do to stop and look away, afraid to give Ron a look, not knowing—

She heard him shift, heard, felt the movement through the floor, and closed her eyes in mental pain as she felt his hands on her upper arm, gently pulling her up.

Kim fought a sudden, wild instinct to pull away and drop back down through the hole, to run, to just get away from it all. She could _do_ this. She _had_ too! "Ron—"  
"Just wait," was his terse reply in a tight tone that shocked her. Kim went limp and allowed herself to be pulled the rest of the way up, only to be left standing there while Ron turned and went back to the couch, flopping back down on it, looking back up at her with large eyes, questioning and expectant.

Kim looked back at him, feeling lost, and terribly, terribly alone. Her words wanted to stick in her throat. But she had to reach him. She knew who was at fault here. It was up to her to make the effort and build the bridge.

"Ron—" she started.

He flicked a finger at her, his voice so severe that it didn't sound like him at all. "Did you beat up on everybody at Cheer Camp as well? Looks like at least someone was able to get a pop back in on you."

Kim's mind blanked as _all_ her thoughts derailed. _He is soooo angry_ she the only thing that flashed though her. With that fixed in her, there was absolutely no hope at the moment for her to even attempt to reboot her brain and it wasn't until her own fingers touched her sore, swollen cheek—

"Oh," Kim managed dumbly and she made the next statement without conscious thought. "Whitler did this to me to keep me from killing the Jock, the one from Block City, the same one from the British scandal rag."

Now it was Ron's turn to lose it as he blinked in astonished surprise as this registered to _him_. His response was as automatic as hers had been. "KP," in a voice instantly overflowing with concern, "what _happened?_"

By the end of the story, Kim was sitting on floor in front of the couch, Ron having moved down onto the floor to sit before her. They were close but not touching, they were talking earnestly but not intimately, they were watching each other, but their eyes were not meeting.

Kim at last looked away, "so that was the end of it. I'm sorry that I did it and yet I'm not. Just as part of me doesn't like the part of me that _did_ enjoy doing it. I can see just how dangerous and addictive, and I really mean addictive and powerful, those feelings and the feeling of power, can be. I can see why some of these wacko's want to rule the world."

Ron nodded his head. "I know what you mean KP. I was there once if you remember."

She looked up at Ron and after a moment nodded in acknowledgement remembering Ron's 'Bad Boy' experience. Kim then dropped her eyes again. "So," she said and then hesitated. "I guess it's time to talk about a certain Bad Girl."

Ron's face tightened up again but he said nothing.

In the light from the battery lantern that Ron had on the milk crate side table, Kim pulled herself around so that her back was against the couch with her knees pulled up tightly against her chest, arms wrapped around them. She laid her head on her knees, on its side so she could look at Ron.

"Right up front, I'm not going to try to make any excuses. We both know all about everything that has been going on the last three months—"

Ron raised a warning hand. "KP, there is two very important things I think you should know before you start."

Kim's head came up off her knees to look at him questioningly.

Ron looked at her gravely. "I have been doing some digging and I think that there has been something going on outside of what Bonnie has been doing."

Kim's eyes got large. "You too? Whitler thought the same thing. What have you found out?"

Ron's eyes flashed wide at the mention of Whitler's corroboration but he waved his hands in a stopping motion. "Let's not get sidetracked right now. The other thing you need to know it that while I can't prove it, I _know_ that Rufus is alive!"

Kim sucked in a sharp breath, one hand coming up to cover her mouth in disbelief, her eyes large and round. "Ron," she said softly. "How?"

Ron's smile was grim. "Somehow, through the Mystical Monkey Power, he and I are linked. That's all I really can say. But I know he's alive and I _think_ he's with Global Justice. But I've been unable to contact them on _any_ of the secure lines. In fact I've been unable to contact _any_ of our Government or . . . special contacts through any of the non-Wade methods since I realized this."

"Oh Ron, that's—" she started.

"I know," he finished.

But then Kim's memory went back to that night in his hospital room and she felt nauseous. She closed her eyes and tired once again to adjust just where she was. Trying to do what she was doing was hard enough. But . . . it was going to be impossible if Ron kept pulling the rugs out from under her!

"KP?" came the soft voice, "why wouldn't you trust me?"

That was the _worst_ thing Ron could have asked for grief instantly threatened to overwhelm Kim as she tried to bury her face into the top of her knees. But at the same time, it may have been the best, for even through her tears and the sobs, she forced herself to give Ron the answer he more than deserved.

"I was too focused Ron. I was too busy trying to deal with the _now_ and I was failing, failing horribly and that only made me try harder and focus harder and it got to be a vicious cycle and it was like I didn't even _know_ I was in it."

Her head whipped up and her red, stained eyes burned into him, their first direct contact since she entered the treehouse. "Despite all my abilities at multitasking, all the things that I can juggle, cheerleading, my studies and being on honor roll, yearbook, dance committee, _all_ those activities that called for sometimes extensive advanced planning, for the most part, _I_ live _my_ life in the _now_! I don't even think about what I'm going to wear tomorrow until I get up. My homework is done _that night_! Nothing gets put off till tomorrow because everything _can_ be done today."

Her eyes drew inward and an unbelievable horror was there. "And there I was, trying to deal with every day being 'today', and nine weeks of 'today's' where disaster after disaster kept blowing up in our faces. It was never ending, and I got to the point, where I thought that it never, never would. In the meantime, my world was collapsing." Kim's eyes closed and a flash of self-loathing flashed across her face as in an angry tone, "some of the main reasons for that collapse are my own fault. But now, after much soul searching, I only now understand those reasons. But all of it contributed to what happened to me. And that was simply that—"

And she stopped as her face closed down completely and she brought it back to the top of her knees, laying her forehead there where she cried and sobbed for several minutes.

Ron sat there, his insides tearing apart at the sight, his own hurt, anger, keeping him from going to her, his love demanding that he should—

So there really was only one right thing to do.

And when Kim felt him slide in next to her and his arms going around her, she practically threw herself around him like an octopus around a crab and if Ron though she was crying before, the intensity of it exploded to almost wild proportions.

It was almost five minutes before Kim managed any kind of recovery and that was only because of her almost total exhaustion.

"KP," he ventured—

"I need to finish," Kim whispered in a horse voice.

"KP,"

"I _NEED_ to Ron," she begged.

"Go easy," he advised, kissing her the side of her head through her wildly messy hair.

Another deep shuddering breath, accompanied by her arms pulling him even tighter to her, "what happened to me was simply that I lost all trust in everything. I couldn't trust anybody at school to be there for me because they were all shying away because of what Bonnie was doing. I couldn't trust my Dad because of his straight-laced little-girl attitude toward me and how that prejudiced everything that he did towards me. I couldn't truly trust Mom because she was away so much and could be called away on an emergency at a moments notice. I wasn't sure I could trust Monique because she was getting all over my case about fighting back against what was happening to me and I wasn't doing it and we weren't talking! And _you_!" she lost it in a huge sob and Ron squeezed her hard.

"I cut myself off Ron," Kim wailed like a baby animal in pain. "From everything and everybody. I thought could do anything and I was forcing myself to do this! Day to Day! Survive every 'today' that was worse than the previous one! I—"

Kim suddenly released Ron and pushed herself away as if he had shocked her. She sat for a long, long moment, staring at her lap. Ron could do nothing but watch her in frightened anticipation.

Finally . . . Kim reached up with her hands and started to search through the tresses of her hair. After a few moments, her hand movements stopped and her eyes rose. But they were not seeing, her gaze was elsewhere as she pulled the contents of her hands around for Ron to see—

It was the lock of hair that was so much shorter than the rest.

"This," she said in a voice as dead as the face of the moon, "is what taught me that I'm not immortal. That I'm not invulnerable. This _scared_ me (as she shook it). It scared me so badly that I thought that only by having you make love to me could I—, only by having you, in that closest, most intimate way, could I make the fear go away and find again the sense of security that I had known before." Then Kim smiled bitterly, "but that didn't happen."

Kim dropped the strand and seemed to fold in on herself for almost an entire minute. She then slowly turned her face all the way, until she was looking straight at Ron. But she still wasn't seeing him. "Then Senor Senior Sr. shot you with that harpoon and you had me pull it out of your thigh without thinking about what we were doing and the arteries was damaged and you almost bled to death and you would have if Wade hadn't gotten my Mom to tell me exactly what to do—" She had to stop and shake her head in horrified wonder, "I then realized that just like what almost happened to you, I _could so very easily_ die."

Kim's eyes then focused on Ron and she was turning pale and having to lick her dry lips and work her desert dry mouth as she could barely whisper, "then you got shot . . . and again . . . you almost died . . . and I knew that it was only a matter of time before my turn came . . . and I was going to _die_! And—and _that's_ where I got to be by the days with you in the hospital. No hope, no tomorrow. I DID NOT _WANT_ TO BELIEVE IN TOMORROW BECAUSE THEY WOULD ONLY BE _WORSE_ THAN TODAY."

The sudden shout rocked Ron back on his rear. But it was followed with a whispered, "and I kept thinking, was it my death that was coming?"

Then she looked at Ron, as pale as death. "For it was. My death, whether that of my body or not. Yes, _I_ might be the next one attacked, injured or . . . just outright killed. Or," and her head turned and looked back out the floor hole, to the outside world, "would it be Monique? Felix? Mom or Dad? Your 'rents? Our whole world was collapsing. Anything could happen. Everything _was_ happening. And it could have to any of them. And that might . . . end my life . . . without even killing me . . . or . . . "

And then her chin dropped to her chest, and she said in a voice so soft that he could barely hear it, "harpoon? Gunshots? The next one _would_ kill you Ron. And then I _would_ die."

Even from the side, Ron could _see_ in Kim's eyes, the agony that those days, those thoughts had brought to her. And the terror of each 'today' that she endured was carried in her voice when she finished, "and that is what was waiting in every single tomorrow."

The silent tears were flowing like water from her eyes. Kim pulled her head back up and wiped at a dripping nose before continuing in a horse voice, "so I was stuck right in the middle of a self-sustaining, self-fulfilling prophecy. That, along with the sudden realization that I had lost all control of my life, me, an Alpha Female, a Blue Fox, stripped of all control—"

Her head collapsed back down as she barely managed to whimper, "I lost it. I so totally lost it!" And she went into silent convulsions for several moments.

Ron made a move to take her into her arms so that he could gently rock her, give her comfort, _anything_ to ease her pain

"And _you_ paid the price," she suddenly blurted into her knees with a force that almost made Ron jump back. "You did _nothing_ other than stand up for everything that _we've_ ever believed in and I ignored and debased and disregarded and insulted it all and I _HIT_ you when you stood up to me! And worse of all, I refused to even consider any of your pleas when you asked me, when you practically _begged_ me to trust you. To _TRUST YOU_! That you would be my protector, my guide, and anchor to see me through to the tomorrow that you were promising me where everything would be all right. The tomorrow I couldn't see. The tomorrow I _REFUSED_ to see but needed so desperately!"

"Kim, I—" Ron started— He needed to tell her— He _had_ to let her know that although— YES he was angry, he was hurt. He felt their sacred trust had been damaged. But he could not let Kim tear herself up—

"I _thought_," and Kim said it with a hard, brutal emphasis, going on as if she hadn't even heard him, "I couldn't trust _anything_ because I'd lost _everything_! There was nothing left holding me in place. That included the trust _OWED_ you. And by then, the pain, God! The pain was overwhelming and it was getting worse. When I was pulled into your hospital room—"

Then her head came back up and over to look at him without seeing him and the guilt—

Ron's heart leapt into his throat at the guilt on Kim's face. He again started to reach for her, but her arm swung out and gently blocked his hands, slowly pushing them back away from her.

It was only when Ron withdrew his hands the rest of the way on his own that Kim's head again turned away, her forehead flopping back down to rest on her knees. "How much," she sounded drained, miserable, defeated, forlorn, "can one girl manage to screw up? I don't think that if I had sat down with a piece of paper and tried to figure out all the angles ahead of time, I could have gotten it as perfect as I did." The stream of tears dripping off her face to stain the fabric of her pants started to pick up again, "I did it all Ron. The responsibility for it _all_ is mine! And—and if you want to punish me, or stop seeing each other for a while or even break it off I'll under—"

Ron's hand shot out and _grabbed_ Kim's hand that was hanging limply at her side. Kim's head/eyes snapped to look at it in pure, mouth-hanging-open shock—

"You were scared," came Ron's firm, quiet tones, "you were in extreme pain, you were overwhelmed and panicking because you had lost control of your life, you were losing your control over yourself and you were terrified because you had been doing things and that you might do other things, some that were wrong, others that might be truly wrong. You were totally and completely disconnected from everything you knew and understood as being a part of yourself except your will to win."

Kim continued to stare at the captured hand as Ron reached out with his other, now taking her hand in both of his and drawing it up and toward him. "KP, in your own words, you . . . _lost it_. And you lost yourself with it. You were not Kim Possible. You were someone totally different, and that person was drowning."

Kim continued to follow with her eyes as Ron brought her captured hand up to kiss it. That left it level with his eyes, which then his captured hers—

And Kim wilted at the love and devotion for her blazing out of them.

There were other emotions flickering in the background and Ron addressed them—

"Yes, I am hurt in more than just the bruising of my face. Yes, I am angry over what happened. Yes, there is damage to parts of our relationship that I never thought, that I never believed would happen. But lets look some facts Kimberly Anne Possible—"

And Ron, still holding her hand, slowly scooted himself around until he was once again in front of her. But this time, his legs were extended out to the side, so he was close—so close.

"Fact One," Ron said that same tone, "and right to your face, you're upset, and crazy and a little sick and wrong right now. But we're teenagers, we are going to be adults. Neither one I believe has any exemption keeping a friend, a lover or a life-mate or spouse from making them mad or hurting them on at least an occasional basis. We both know that more than a few of my stunts have tweaked you more than once and you've have managed too, less frequently to be sure, return the favor."

Then Ron released one of his hands from hers and reached up to tenderly touch her injured cheek. Her other hand shot up to grab it, squeeze it, press it home, the pain it caused ignored in the pleasure of his touch.

"But as I was saying," he continued, "you're getting too worked up and I don't want you to do your thing where you double-think yourself, and us, right into trouble again. Yes, I'm angry, yes, I'm hurt physically and emotionally. Yes, something . . . in our life long relationship has been damage. But at the same time, as I just said, the person who did that damage _was not you!_ So what I'm angry and hurt about is the fact that you allowed yourself to get to that point where you were separated, where you were lost, where you were so totally cut off that you . . . lost it . . . and you lost _YOU_ so that you could not trust me."

Kim closed her eyes and turned her face into his outstretched hand and started to sob into it. But Ron moved his hand, grasping her cheek, the pain causing her to cry out as he forced her head back up and her eyes, wide, back to his.

"NO!" Ron said sharply. "Don't pull away. You _know_ what you did. You yourself told me not two minutes ago. And if there's one thing I know about my KP, it's that she always learns from her mistakes and she never makes the same one twice. So now, you have _MY_ trust restored to you. Because now I know that since you've recognized what happened, it _will not_ happen again. And with that, everything else is a matter of forgiveness—" and Ron again lifted and kissed the Kim's hand that he was still holding in his other, "and" with now a voice almost whispering, "you will always have my forgiveness my love. For you earn it by doing the things that you do, the things that make you, you."

Kim looked at Ron in sudden, mystified wonder, barely managing to say, "I—I do? H—how?"

Ron smiled hugely. "That KP is Fact Number Two. That despite all your fears, all your grief, all your pain, the embarrassment, all the things, both real and imagined that you did to yourself, did to me, did to our relationship. You came back. You . . came . . back! On your own! To me. For _US!_"

Kim's eyes got very big around; her mouth was hanging open even as she wasn't breathing—

"Fact Three," and then Ron stumbled as he choked almost solid, forcing himself with all his strength to grate out, "that despite my anger and hurt, I'm here, eagerly waiting for _you_! Waiting to work it all out _with _you. Wanting desperately for you to give me the explanations that you have just given me. Sweating out the minutes in this treehouse since noon for the express reason that I want, I _need_ to forgive you for what happened."

Kim . . . couldn't even speak. She could only mouth 'w—w—why'?

The tears were once again in Ron's eyes even as he smiled. "I know you really don't have to ask. But I imagine, that you really do need to hear, to be reassured, to have it confirmed even if your heart knows the answer. Because," and the truth of it blazed in his face, " . . I . . love . . you . . more than anything in the world and I know . . you . . love . . me! Even if you can't say the stupid words!"

"Oh RON!" Kim erupted, somehow managing to go through her own knees to again wrap herself around him—

And Kim felt the flame inside that had come so close to going out flare almost to full brilliance as the two teens tumbled sideways onto the floor making a valiant attempt to crawl inside each other. Care was taken concerning a badly bruised cheek and a set of tender lips, but the need was not to be denied.

But at the same time, Kim felt . . . a spot of darkness still shadowing that flame, crowding it, and her, from being able to totally come back to life, to be completely released from what Ron had just so accurately described as 'the grief, pain, embarrassment, the things, both real and imagined that she did to herself, to him, to their relationship'.

And again, Kim knew just what it was that she had to do

Ron was holding Kim so tightly against him that he was hoping that his thudding heart was a physical sensation to her. But he felt her entire body relax and out of sudden fear, he did the same.

Kim slowly pulled away from him, pushing herself back across the floor, dropping her head as soon as it left his shoulder—

She then pushed herself almost upright, leaving herself leaning on her outstretched arms, her eyes closed, her face drawn, her expression working as if—

"What is it?" Ron asked as he pushed himself up to her, recognizing once again the signs that she was beating herself over something—

Kim was breathing heavily and managed to say between breaths, "why do I deserve you Ron?"

Ron's eyes got big around and it was all he could do to shake his head in mystification.

Kim saw this and almost managed a crying laugh. "Any other boy I'll bet would want some piece of my butt or _something_ as payment for what I've put you through. And yet you forgive me, and you're waiting for me, and—and you—you—" and her face closed down as the tears once again came. But Ron could tell that these were different tears for after a very long moment, her eyes opened and there was this wondrous, couldn't-believe-it-but-knew-it-was-real smile on her face, "you love me. After everything I did."

The 'goof' smile bloomed on his face as he assured her, "of course. Because it wasn't _you_ that was doing it."

But then the smile left Kim's face and her eyes narrowed. A flash of self-anger and grief flooded over her features and she slowly shook her head in disagreement.

"I'm sorry Ron, but that's a cop out. The fact that I might have not been acting like myself does not excuse the fact that I did loose it, that I lost control, that I failed in soo many areas of self control and that I—, if something should happen in the future?" Unbidden to her mind came her thoughts of Erica the Syntho-Drone and the CGI recordings of her and Ron. All the pain and the agony of the last months washed over her anew—

"Ron! Hold Me!"

And he held her as if he was ready to give his life for her—

And for Kim Possible, as it all once again threatened to come thundering down on top of her.

It was . . . different this time. She was in the arms of her love, someone she trusted and who _wanted_ to be there for her, in every situation, always.

This time she was able to fight back the tears, the terror, the sobs. And there was only one reason. Kim entwined herself about that reason, arms tightly around his neck, face buried in the hollow of his collarbone.

For several minutes she just rode it out, soaking in his strength, feeling his love pour down over the pain and agony to wash it away. And when she spoke, it was with an emotional voice that told Ron just how she felt, as if the words could not.

"There is sssoooooooo much that I owe you and it goes back long before we ever shared our current feelings for each other. But feeling the way we do now, it only makes it more important for us to say what is in our heart. AND SINCE I CAN'T!" and again a single sob escaped her. "Ron, my Mom thinks she knows why I can't say the words. It's because I feel them soooo strongly, that I literally choke on them. It's a real life medical, mental thing. But it doesn't change what's going on right now when you need to hear them so badly."

Kim pulled her head up so she could at him with eyes blazing with love and devotion. His being leapt at the sight of it, leaving him feeling small and humbled.

Kim released one hand to reach down below her waist. To Ron, it felt as if she was rummaging around in one of the cargo pockets of her pants. When that hand came back up, it had a very small cloth sack, which she then set on his lap between them.

That hand now free, Kim then, Ron catching and holding his breath, touched his lips and mouth with oh so gentle fingers where she had damaged him, lower lip trembling mightily as she did so.

When her hand dropped, so did her eyes. Then, after licking her lips as if they were dry, Kim said, "I lost control of every aspect of who and what I am because I _refused_ to fight back thinking it would seem spoiled, selfish and egotistical to do so when the reality was that I _was_ so spoiled, selfish and egotistical that I thought that I shouldn't _have_ to fight back what was happening to my world. Things like that just didn't happen to me."

A great shuddering breath went through Kim before she could go on. "I cut myself off from any and all of my friends and family who could have helped me because I was so obsessed that I could do it _all_ by myself. When I realized that _I couldn't_, ego and pride in the form of pain and grief, wouldn't let me go back to them to ask for help. _I_ did that Ron. Yes, by the end, it turned me into someone else. But it was _me_ walking those paths open eyed that got me to that point!"

Then Kim's eyes slowly came back up to him. "And finally, I couldn't see the tomorrows that you were promising. The ones that you _know_ are there. I couldn't _trust_ in you _at all_ to place myself into your hands, like any true friend, partner or. . . life mate should. But the point is, that at the same time, I know, just as I knew _then_, that there is, and always will be a tomorrow. And the reason why I know that, . . . is because I see you, I've always seen you, standing next to the doorway that leads to them."

Kim had to choke back a sob and Ron's own eyes were running but she didn't hesitate one bit. "I live in the today and you live in tomorrow. That's one of so many reasons why we've always been the perfect team. Others see it as just part of you being a goof. I see it—as your dreams. You know what you want to do with the rest of your life Ron. You have your dreams; you have the abilities to make them come true. Your tomorrows _will_ happen. I still don't have _any_ idea about what I want to do beyond high school," she had to stop and give a crooked smile through her tears when she added, "other than that I do _not_ intend to be a portable vacuum repair person."

Kim then pulled her other hand back and sat up as she gripped the little sack in between the two of them. Then she settled, and for just a moment, she looked miserable and forlorn and, something that Ron's eyes almost couldn't believe, scared.

After a long moment, Kim's eyes came up to meet his, and oceans of pain and guilt were washing through them, spilling over into her voice. "I violated our relationship, its standard of togetherness, being there for each other and most importantly, its deep and binding trust. I only have an idea, based on what you've admitted to me about how badly I've hurt you and it, but I can imagine the truth of how bad and deep it was. You say that you've forgiven me and I believe you. But the fact is that it happened. What's to say that sometime in the future—"

Kim dropped her head, and spoke with dread. "And, as you said earlier and as I mentioned about Whitler, now we have some indication that at least part of what has been happening to us may actually be an organized attack by powers or people unknown. Which means that it could happen again, today . . . tomorrow . . . or twenty years from now."

So, when Kim looked back up to Ron's eyes, there was fear in hers. "So even if I promise you that what I did will never happen again, what reassurance can I give you that I can keep that promise? What assurance can I give me! Me! The Alpha Female who's crazy, wild, uncontrollable. Do you know how much I've thought about those labels over the last week? Your Mom called me those names. I _love_ your Mom and _she_ called me those names."

Kim's eyes then went distant. "And everything else I did. The rampage I went on. All those people don't even know that their precious hometown teen hero did all that destruction. The fact that in a sheer fit of killer rage, I—" and again she dropped her head to his chest, this time with a guilty sob, "I almost murdered Sherrie Winer when all she was trying to do was tell me that she _hadn't _killed Rufus and I would have if . . . something hadn't of stopped me. And Bonnie—"

And Kim saw Ron stiffen. In a dead tone, she told Ron what had happened. Finally—

Kim was back in his arms, head turned to the side, eyes closed, as Ron slowly stroked her hair, relishing the feeling, knowing that she was going to have to break it.

"Ron," she started once again, her voice now reflecting her state of near exhaustion, "going back to what kind of reassueance I can give both of us that I can stay in control, I could only come up with one thing. I need to change. I want tomorrow. And I want it with you. And I want all the tomorrows that the rest of our lives can give us. And just in case some other plot or attack happens like what is going on right now, I have to make a commitment to you that I cannot break. A promise isn't good enough. It has to be stronger. It . . . has to be special."

With that, Kim pulled apart from him, her head coming upright. She looked about and recovered the little sack from the floor, and worked with both hands to open it. Out into her palm spilled something.

It was a pair of rings.

Ron's eyes went wide and his mouth moved without sound for a moment. Then, with an obvious effort at control, he whispered, "are those wedding rings?"

Kim's eyes looked a little hurt. "Would that bother you? Your Mom came after me not thirty seconds after I got home to try and make peace and the major reason she gave for her effort was that you were telling her that I was to be her daughter-in-law."

Ron's jaw snapped shut and his pale blond completion turned as red as a fire engine. But then Kim literally _saw_ the steel flow into his spine straightening him. As the goofy smile came to his face and his mouth came open to make his great pronouncement she beat him to it, with a trembling smile and a grateful tone, "it's okay Ron, _I_ know what you mean. I also know what you feel because _I_ can feel; I've always been able to feel your love for me. Be it as a friend, or more."

Kim then looked down to what was in her hands. "These are the friendship rings that Gunners Mate Ian Possible made for Emily 'Em' Tensity on the voyage home after the United States submarine Thunderfish took Em," and Kim stopped and again raised her eyes to look at Ron with a proud gleam in them, "my Nana, on a secret mission to Japan right before the end of the war."

Kim had to pause again, taking a ragged breath. "I've never been able to get the entire story, but these rings bonded Grandpa and Nana together until they were at last able to meet, court and marry after the war. If I pledge myself to you on these, _nothing will make me break that_." Kim closed her eyes in pain as she added, "it doesn't change what happened, doesn't take away the stain of what I did to you or the shame that I feel. It doesn't repair the damage to our relationship or the sense of trust. But as your willing to forgive me, I'm hoping and praying that this shows you just how committed I am at making things work and how much you mean to me even if I can't—"

That was as far as Kim got for suddenly, one of Ron's fingers was on her lips, silencing her. That finger then came off her lips, and just hovered there—

With sudden shock, Kim realized it was Ron's left ring finger.

Choking to the point where she was incapable of speech, she managed, with trembling hands, to get the larger of the two rings onto Ron's finger. It was a large-loose fit, but it stayed.

Ron's hand then moved, his other joining in to take it from his girl. Kim's as if in a dream offering hers—

"Together against all foes, united in love with all hearts, you and I Kimberly, until the end of our days. And I promise you," Ron said with a soft, choked, loved filled voice as he slipped her ring, a perfect fit, on, "the tomorrows will be endless."

"And I pledge to you," Kim choked, "that I will never allow myself to be separated from your steadying Ronness for all the tomorrows the futures will give us."

And despite some tender lips and sore cheeks, the bond was sealed with a deep, lasting kiss.

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As Ron had spent most of the day waiting for her homecoming, by this time, he was wasting away to nothing (figuratively of course). There was only one place for them to go and even Kim had to admit that it had been too long since she had imbibed.

It was am Indian Summer evening, breezy but not overly cool. Even so, it gave Kim an excuse to tightly cling to Ron's side with both hands. He was still using the cane but could manage full speed with only a slight limp.

They didn't talk on their walk over relishing in the way their spirits, karma, rhythm, whatnot had already settled back into place. Kim knew that she had been sooo wrong to separate and deny herself the strength and determination that she _knew_ existed in Ron. _Just because, _she thought_ the only time he ever lets the world see it is when the chips are down, he's in the clutch or"_ and she had to take one hand from his arm to wipe at an eye, "_for me._

Ron in the meantime, _I can't believe everything she said. If I had had any idea that things had truly gotten that bad inside her, I would have been hurting people. I have _got_ to make sure that she stays open to me, that she vents it all through me. I'll go so far as letting her use me as a punching bag on a regular basis if it helps. If I have to, I'll _make_ her practice her Kung Fu moves on me and work out the aggressions by acting like the people she's angry at._" Then he blinked as a trickle of sweat went down his forehead, _I only hope Monkey Kung Fu can keep me alive long enough for her to thank me for my sacrifice._

When they reached their destination and Ron politely opened the door for her, they stepped into Bueno Nacho, eyes on each other with spontaneous smiles as warm hands were grasped and just as their faces started to come back around front—

The cheering and applause hit them like a brick wall doing ninety in a school zone. Kim's eyes only had time to take in the banner strung across the room proclaiming 'MIDDLETON MAD DOGS COME FROM BEHIND MIRICLE' before the other members of the Squad swept around them, other friends and students came in behind that and off they were taken toward the counter.

But their hands were never parted (and the crowd made sure of that).

It was only after Kim was thoroughly stuffed with far too much cheese to be healthy that she regained any level of consciousness and found herself sitting on Ron's lap, one of his arms around her waist holding her in place as he continued to feed as if there was no tomorrow with the other.

Hope and her boyfriend, the Captain of the Track and Field squad were sitting inside the booth next to Ron, across from them was Liz and her boyfriend from the lacrosse team and Josh, sitting by himself. Kim blinked and looked about before looking back to Josh, "where'd Tara go?"

Something unreadable crossed Josh's eyes and over the crowd he just said, "she had to go take care of something."

Kim thought that sounded ominous but she had about reached her ability to do anything considering her level of fatigue. "Ron," she asked pleadingly, "can we go?"

The "um sure," came out from somewhere under the mask of hot sauce and cheese. It only took a dozen napkins and assistance from Hope to make Ron somewhat presentable. They're departure was delayed by far too many hugs and comments, both relating to the Mad Dogs achievement from the other students, and about her health and well being as well as gladness for the recovery of her relationship with Ron from her friends and squad mates (as well fresh comments on the rings that adored their fingers).

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The walk back was much slower considering that they were both carrying a lot more weight. It was also plain to Ron that his girl had at last hit the wall and was pretty well done in.

When they reached the intersection where they had to turn one way to go to Ron's house and the other to go to Kim's and Ron turned her limp body toward hers—

"No," was all she said stopping dead in her tracks.

"KP? What—?" Ron asked, slightly alarmed.

Kim turned and draped herself around his neck, hanging heavily down his front. "Take me back to the treehouse."

Warning bells went off in Ron's head. "Ah, KP—"

"Trust me Ron, I'm not going to blow it when we've both worked so hard tonight to put it all back together."

Ron had to reluctantly agree to the logic of this and there was a definite pleading tone to her voice. Besides, he wasn't ready to deny her anything right now.

Kim used the very last bit of her energy reserves to climb back up into the treehouse. But this time she did manage to stagger over to the couch where she collapsed across it. Ron came up after her and kneeled next to her, stoking her hair, looking on her with concern.

Kim opened her eyes and smiled sleepily at him. "Parts of me are still lost Ron. I'm still not complete and whole. I need a little more something. I need that something from you, and I believe you can give this to me without violating any of your promises or principals."

As she started that sentence, Ron had felt, despite her earlier reassurances, his heart going into his mouth. But as she finished it, and he heard the honesty and need in her voice, he knew again, that whatever she wanted, he was going to give it to her.

Kim managed to lift and crane her head up and around. She looked over at the trunk against the wall and nodded her head at it. "Do you still have all the blankets and comforters that you use to make that big bed out of when we use to sleep out here?"

Ron's eyes got very big around and now his heart shifted gears . . . what did she have in mind . . . "Kim—" he started.

Her head plopped back down, facing him again and one arm lazily reached out to run it fingers through his hair.

"My Mom isn't expecting me home tonight. I called yours, she isn't expecting you either. I need you Ron. In a way that will finish healing me, give me my sense of safety and security back and make me whole again. And it's really quite simple."

The hand in his hair now pulled his head forward so Kim could give him the lightest of kisses on the lips. Then, at that close range, she whispered, "I want to sleep with you Ron. Just sleep, together in bed as if we were already married. Not like where we're on a plane or in the back of a snow cat with one of us having their head on the others lap. I want us to be there, full length, spooned against each other, arms around, feeling each other move and breath, all night long."

Kim released the pressure on the hand holding Ron's head enough for him to move back and Ron saw, heck, he _felt_ the raw need in her eyes for what she was asking. And he himself, how long had he _dreamed_—

It took several minutes for him to arrange everything as Kim watched dimly from the couch. Sure, the pads and comforters and blankets were musty smelling after all this time, but compared to some of the places they had caught sack time.

With a flourish, Ron bowed, "your Queens bed awaits you my fair lady."

Kim managed a smile as she pushed herself upright and started to work on her shoes. In moments they were off and she gingerly got to her feet, stepping over onto the pile. Ron held her shoulders for safety and helped her ease down. It was as he was coming down that he suddenly looked and his voice went up what had to be thirty octaves, "Kiiimmm what are you?"

She was in the process of peeling her cargo pants off. "Married people don't sleep with their clothes on."

"B—B—B—B" was all Ron could manage as his eyes started to bug.

Kim had them off and threw them into the corner. She then looked at her boyfriend with a look—

"Please Ron, I really, really need this. I'm not going to take my underwear off and neither will you. I _need_ to be as close to you as I can be without crossing your line and I _want_ to feel like the complete, committed couple that we're saying we are. I want to feel _you_ as close as we can be and I want _you_ to feel _me_. I need, I _have_ to be that close to you to try to find the peace and security I've been missing for so long. So unless you want to get five months worth of stored-up, frustrated puppy-dog pout from which you WILL NOT survive, please do this for me."

Faced with a threat like that, Ron had no choice in the matter. He was worried about his own reactions and control and these he firmly clamped a lid on and nailed down tight.

But the lid did become a _little_ loose (and his breath a little ragged) as while he was undressing, he noted various details about Kim's undergarments that he had never noticed before. It occurred to him that every time he'd ever seen them prior to this, it was always in the periphery of his attention as his focus was administering to some injury to her body or he had been frantically working to free her from some diabolical device. This he all forcibly shoved out of his head and concentrated on the math courses that he was barely passing.

So now, Kim lay down on her back, Ron, trying not to notice his heart racing, lay down on his side beside her. "D—d—do you want me up against your back?" he barely managed as he pulled the blankets up over the both of them.

"No," Kim said softly and she then rolled into him, face to face, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling the two of them together. Ron felt the bare skin of their stomachs come together and closed his eyes letting the sensations take him, the reality compare to the dreams—

"Ron," came the soft voice from where his girl, the young woman who had offered friendship rings to bind them until the right moment, the lady who had already committed herself to someday being his wife, had buried her face again in the hollow of his collarbone, "is this okay with you?"

"KP," he said, trying so hard not to stammer, "this is wonderful."

He felt what might have been a chuckle from her. "I'm glad you think so." She then yawned hugely, him feeling the warmth of her breath on his chest. "I just want you to know," Kim managed, although her voice was fading fast, "is that from the female side, the feelings are right back at you big guy."

Ron pulled her in closer, felt her head sink in deeper into its little pocket, Kim's hair falling in over her face like a blanket of its own.

What followed was a couple of minutes in which her breathing become slow and regular. _She's asleep_ Ron thought. _Good. God knows she needs it. And God knows I need her and thank you for this time even if it's only this night and something happens to us tomorrow. This truly is a dream come true. And the mere fact that it was Kim asking to do this with me, means more than—_

"Ron?" came the sleepy, barely there voice.

He hugged her tight. "Go to sleep my love. We can talk some more in the morning."

But Kim fought against the hug. At least enough to pull her head back and mutter sleepily, "didn't get my goodnight kiss."

"Oh, in that case—"

A moment in heaven, in each other's arms.

"Now sleep my love," Ron Stoppable said.

Kim Possible grinned weakly at her life mate. "And miss this opportunity?"

In the dim light from the lantern set to nightlight, Ron frowned. "What—?"

Kim closed her eyes and barely breathed, "I'm almost asleep, with the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, the man who will give me all my tomorrows. For the first time since that island, I feel safe and protected. I'm peaceful and at peace with myself after all I've done because despite it all, here I am, in bed, in your arms. I'm as calm and as relaxed as I could ever possibly be, and that is, considering all the problems, and my problem in particular, the prefect opportunity, to say—"

And her head came forward, her lips again brushing lightly against his before—

"I love you Ron Stoppable. I love you with my entire heart and soul. And I will love you until the day I die which I intend to be never because I want to live forever with you, loving you forever while I'm doing it."

Ron was shocked to—

"Go to sleep my love," Kim whispered, giving his lips another brush with hers before setting her head back down into its hole. In moments she was breathing deeply and Ron _knew_ she was asleep. He gently gathered her too him, relishing the feel of her breathing, one hand moving around onto her neck and finding her pulse there—

_So much life. Sooo much life. And I am honored and awed to be the one she wants to share it with_ he managed as a tear of joy rolled down his cheek.

"Booyah," Ron managed to breath into her ear in triumph.

And he thought he felt her face; pressed close against his chest, move into a smile.


	19. The Straw that Broke

A/N: I wanted to acknowledge the influence of MrDrP on the decision to deviate from the original plotted story line and have Kim 'Say The Words' in the last chapter. MrDrP first raised the issue in his review of Chapter 17: The Education of Kim Possible Pt3 Healing, and then continued the argument in several well thought out Personal Messages. I immediately saw exactly what it was that he was driving at. As Kim 'Saying The Words' was originally suppose to be the stories ending, it involved some major mental gymnastics on my part. But MrDrP was entirely right about the appropriateness and I think that story is much better for it and I thank him for the suggestion and if you liked the outcome, you should too. I have come up with a new ending, not as dramatic but I hope it will be satisfying (but who knows, things may change again between now and then). A lesson to all writers (as it was to me), stay flexible and receptive to all ideas.

There may be a considerable gap before my next chapter as I will be gone the majority of June on 'vacation'. A short week in Las Vegas with the family. Then my wife and I on our first cruise to Alaska. Then June 20-25 I'll be outside Albuquerque New Mexico with S.A.S.S (Single Action Shooting Society) at their 'End of Trail' World Competition with my movie gun friend allowing the public to shoot our Gatling Guns, Machine Guns and Cannons for a small price. If anyone is in the neighborhood, look at the S.A.S.S, web site and come on by (there is an admission price). Ask for 'The Duck' (yeah that's my nickname in the real world too) at the Spanish American War Gatling Gun Battery.

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How slow did time become when it stopped?

Time had stopped for Bonnie Rockwaller. Her life consisted of at some point, seeing the light growing behind the window shade which would herald the start of a 'day' in which staff, doctors, nurses, orderlies, occasionally her mother and stepfather, would shuttle through her room at different periods for different periods. Occasionally they would actually take her in a wheelchair to another part of the hospital for tests or an interview. Then at some point, the sun would fade from behind the shade, and the traffic and visits would get to be less, almost non-existent until her final medication round, then it would be time to 'sleep'.

So Bonnie had lost all concept of time, she had lost track of days or even days of the week (unless she happened to catch a snatch of conversation but that she had realized was unreliable). She felt disjointed, in a limbo not of her own making—

She was lonely, she missed Felix.

Bonnie understood all the reasoning why Felix had to leave and she was not upset or bitter about it. She only wished that something had come it to fill the void he had left. She understood that the hospital was in a 'holding pattern' until a transfer could be arranged to a proper psychiatric rehab facility that could accommodate both her and her parents needs and that location and costs (what her parents could afford without being ruined) was the critical crux of the matter

She was cheered however (and desperately holding onto it with mental fingers) by a first, faltering step on her long journey back that, her mother was acknowledging the very real problem that her daughter had, that is wasn't 'just a phase' and that what had happened in that mill in the foothills had not been an act 'to just get attention'. The second part was that her stepfather had finally come to grips with his and his wife's issues and literally forced Bonnie's mom to examine her own behavior, assisting in that process by admitting his own faults in his neglect and deliberate ignorance of the situation. Bonnie knew of course that she was not getting the full story on this and what she was getting told her that her mother was much of it fighting it tooth and nail. But both of her parents had sat in on a couple of her sessions and it was her understanding that her parents had attended several of her own (although Bonnie had 'heard' that her mother had stormed out halfway through the second one).

But all in all, Bonnie for the first time in longer than she could remember, actually had occasional moments that were free of anger, fury, envy, jealousy, want and desire directed at the world in general and several people in particular. She had _not_ even begun to deal with the deep, bottomless depression and seemingly endless guilt that permeated her and at night, when she lay away, unable to sleep, she spoke aloud to her Guardians, pouring out her _true_ feelings knowing that they would not answer and therefore could not judge but knowing that they were listening—

Somehow it helped.

Now Bonnie lay, wishing absurdly at this point for something, _anything_, a book, a _school_book even! SOMETHING before she went crazy of a different kind from simple boredom.

As such, she was extremely sensitive to any movement or alteration in the sphere of her senses. So when the door to her room started to open . . . but not with the firm, quick movement of one of the staff (her parents had already been there for the day), Bonnie was immediately on edge for something not normal.

And all it took was the first glimpse of the lock of platinum blond hair to slowly start coming around the corner of the door to tell her—

Bonnie practically threw herself down into the bed as a whole encyclopedia of conflicting emotions and buffeting moods suddenly slammed into her. She wasn't ready, she didn't know if she ever would be ready for—

Tara's head came all the way around and while there was a very big smile on her face, her large, expressive eyes were guarded and warily. Emotions all too readable, fear of being presumptuous, fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of being afraid to _try_. To Bonnie, the other girls heart and mind was worn on her sleeve just like the book she had been looking to read

Now the question that Bonnie had to answer, did she _want_ to read it? Or did she want to tear its binder in two and throw it in the trash.

Tara was now all the way in, standing in a contrite pose with her hands held together in front of her as if walking into church. "Hello Bonnie," came the soft voice that held genuine welcome, and a tone pleading for a response.

Bonnie's head snapped down and away. Of everything that she had been dealing with, of all the conversations, talks, therapy sessions and whatnot she had been through, she had stubbornly refused to mention, talk or acknowledge the 'other' who had been responsible for her not being able to carry through with her suicide. The one—

The one who was in fact THE ONE responsible because THAT ONE had been the one that had brought Felix in, had known of the place where she might have gone to seek refuge, had told Felix where that place was, and had held the torn strips of her own blouse on the jagged wounds in Bonnie's wrists until medical help had arrived.

"B—Bonnie?"

"Do I thank you . . . or do I kill you at my first opportunity Tara?"

The young blonds open mouth closed with an audible 'snap', and tears brimmed in the corner of Tara's eyes. But behind the tears, something else dwelled, and that forced the mouth to come back open—

"It was for your own good Bonnie. You didn't _need_ to die."

Tara had expected a reaction to that. A sarcastic snort or an angry retort. The fact that she got _nothing_ from the angry figure in the bed shook her more than she was willing to admit. It left her mind thrashing for her next step. For lack of anything better, "Bonnie—"

"Don't even start on it Tara," came the exceedingly tired voice back at her before she could even get the second word out. Bonnie's figure achingly turned itself back to her and Tara felt her stomach wrench in sudden sickness at the piercing _anger_ that was the focus of the gaze that locked onto her.

But there were other emotions behind the anger. Conflict, confusion, disbelief and wonder. And these were the tones that were in Bonnie's voice as those eyes stared out at her.

"You're forcing me to look at things I _don't_ want to touch, things I want to run away from and bury my head in the sand against. Because of you I'm _alive_ Tara and a good part of me _hates_ you for that. That's the part that is having to deal with the depression and the taking of the drugs and having to listen to the counselors and actually _force_ myself to try and understand what their telling me and then _force_ myself to give them an answer that I really mean or that I _think_ is honest and true!"

Bonnie's head snapped away in anger then snapped right back for the next salvo. "Thanks to you, I have to look forward to dealing with all the kids that I screwed over and their parents, some of whom I understand are already filing lawsuits against my parents and the school. Thanks to you, is soon as I'm labeled 'fit and sane', and I walk out of whatever loony bin they send me to from here, the cuffs go on and I get hauled off to Juvenile Hall on God knows what charges."

And now a look of a trapped, panicked animal came over Bonnie's face as she said in a voice now filled with pure apprehension, "and even if I survive all of that, at some point, I'm going to run into Kim, and between the sheer terror and the guilt of that thought, I'm ready, despite all the other progress I've made, to run out in front of the nearest train."

A long, pregnant pause followed. But Tara, she couldn't resist the question that had immediately come to mind. "But you said that you were making progress?"

Bonnie had been staring into her lap and this time she did snort. "Yeah, so they tell me. And at times I actually believe it." Bonnie's head then came back up and the fear was still in her eyes. "That's why I don't want to think about all those things. What hope do I have of _anything_ with all that waiting for me out there? I mean, the fact that my Mom is finally opening her eyes is wonderful but it's a case of too little too late. I'm dead from a half a dozen angles once I'm released. I have no _hope_ beyond these hospital walls."

Tara emphatically shook her head. "There's always hope Bonnie."

Bonnie's eyes slowly came up to once again skewer the blond girl, this time with a look of contempt. "I'm sorry 'Sister' Tara. I'm afraid that I don't agree. I've heard all about how it's 'your faith' that's requiring you to do whatever it is that's driving you to help me. That and the crap about how we were once friends and that your God is making you try to be my friend again."

Tara's face had again tightened and the eyes were again hinting at moisture. But those same rushes where flashing in the background and her voice was now level and firm. "Don't you want a friend Bonnie? You seemed to want to spend time with Felix bad enough. We were once best friends. Why shouldn't I want to have that again? Why shouldn't you?"

"Don't you get it Tara," Bonnie snapped harshly, "I don't have a clue what I want. I don't have any idea who or what I am right now other than the most hated girl in the history of the Tri-Cities area. Yes! I would love a friend and I saw one in Felix because we found that we actually had a lot in common. You're only here because it's the 'right thing' to do and because your precious 'faith' _demands_ it."

Bonnie snorted angrily. "I don't need an evangelist to save me. I don't want to find religion and see the light. I want someone to grab hold of me and protect me when the Gang members drive by outside my house or some judge finds my parents civilly libel for something I did and takes their money or I'm found guilty of conspiracy to murder Ron Stoppable and I'm sent to the Youth Camp until I'm twenty five or" and Bonnie took a deep shuddering breath that was released in an almost sob, "Kim Possible stalks me until she finds me alone so she can break every single bone in my body." Bonnie's head dropped into her lap and she sobbed again, "which as far as everything is concerned, is no more than I deserve."

Another long moment passed as Bonnie sniffed and sniffled, wiped at her nose—

"How do you know what I want Bonnie?" Tara asked. "Why shouldn't I be doing this just because I really do want to be your friend again?"

Bonnie looked back up and the anger was back. "Don't play with me Tara. There's no reason for you wanting to be my friend again. You're only doing it because your faith 'requires it'."

But Tara's eyes were burning back and it was her turn to take a shuddering breath before saying, "and that would be a lie."

It took a moment of Bonnie staring at Tara for that to register and for the brunettes face to change as the statement did not register so that the questioning look could replace the angry one.

Embarrassment, guilt, self-loathing. All of these were swimming in the back of Tara's eyes. But they were well behind the determination, the honesty, the sincere concern and desire that was forefront in her gaze.

"Your right Bonnie when you say just how hated you are by so many at school. The girls of your former posse have had to band together tighter under Carla Ethome and go around in nothing but groups for protection. Anyone who even made a comment of sympathy towards you quickly and majorly regretted it—"

Then Tara sighed. "But _I_ really want to be your friend."

The blond's head then dropped. "So I'm doing what's probably a shameful thing. I'm using my faith as a smokescreen to keep all the other kids from hating me."

"Whaa—" was all Bonnie could manage.

"We are taught that our faith is a crutch to support us in need," Tara said sadly. "But I really am unsure if what I'm doing applies. I'm now uncomfortable enough to have to go to my Minister and ask his guidance and if I am in the wrong, I . . . I will need to address my error and seek forgiveness."

Tara had to stop there and take a deep breath. But then she managed with a strained voice, "but the truth is Bonnie, that while my faith is a very real part of me and my life and that I walk every day with Jesus and talk with God, what I have been doing is making everyone think that it was my faith and that alone that _demanded_ and _required_ me to be trying to help you. Even then, I have gotten more than one nasty note or comment."

"But," asked Bonnie, totally blown away by what she was hearing, "but then, why?"

Tara again had to take a slow, deep, shuddering breath before she could answer, "because I . . . _failed_ you when you needed me as a friend before and _I_ need to make up to you for what I did back then."

Bonnie was now totally lost. "What are you talking about?"

Tara had to wait several beats before she could answer. "Back when we were still best friends. Back when your Mom married your Step-Dad and your sisters started their campaign of lying, intimidation and blackmail. Back when you . . . started to lose it."

Bonnie paled as she remembered those days. She's managed to put mental blocks on most of it. But her current therapy was breaking those blocks down and some of the dreams and nightmares—

But what was it that Tara was talking about? "There was nothing you could have done to stop me from doing what I did," Bonnie said in a dead, flat voice. "You had a good idea what it was like living in that house. That's why you stopped coming around and would only see me at middle school or your house—"

And Bonnie had to stop because Tara was sadly shaking her head. "And there is where I failed you Bonnie," the blond said in a soft, sad voice. "Instead of being your friend, instead of sticking to your side and trying to help you, I let you go, I let go of you and let you drown."

"What could you have done," Bonnie snapped at Tara, annoyed beyond all measure—

"I DON'T KNOW!" Tara yelled back and then winced, glancing guiltily at the door. The blond physically gathered herself and turned back to the bed.

"I don't know," Tara repeated in a softer voice. "But I do know that I should have done _something_! Talked to our teachers, gone to the counselors, asked my parents if you could have come and lived with us—"

"What?" Bonnie breathed in disbelief. "Come live with you?"

Tara threw out helpless hands. "It was a thought I had at the time."

Bonnie was watching Tara with an almost frozen expression for . one . two . three beats before, "why didn't you . . . carry through with the thought?"

Tara's head dropped like a rock. It was a moment before she mumbled—

"What?" asked Bonnie.

"You were fooling around with boys," whimpered Tara, the tears visible streaming down her cheeks, "you were drinking, I was afraid that drugs were going to start at any time and that you might . . . you might—"

Bonnie closed her eyes in pain and mumbled, "you were afraid that I would bring all that into your house with me, maybe screwing up your family like mine was." Bonnie snorted angrily. "Is there anything your not a hypocrite at?"

Tara's head snapped up as if stung.

Bonnie just glared for a moment then looked away. After a long moment, when Bonnie didn't look back, Tara's head again fell.

Several minutes of silence passed—

"I still want to be your friend," Tara whispered.

"I thought you _needed_ to be my friend," Bonnie hissed back without turning her head.

Tara made a helpless gesture. "I—I can't explain everything I did then or what I'm doing now just as I can't express everything I'm feeling. We were best friends Bonnie. I failed you because you were _scary_ and I didn't have the strength to overcome it and I saw what happened to you and I've always wondered if I could have changed anything or made a difference—"

"We'll never know will we," came a shot in a very nasty voice."

"Bonnie?" Tara begged.

Bonnie's head came back around to face front but her eyes were elsewhere. "God! How I dreamed of someone who could have taken me out of there." Then the eyes closed and the brunette's head dropped and there was a sad shaking of the head. "But at the same time, I'm only fooling myself if I thought it would made a difference. I _liked_ doing what I was doing. Connie and Lonnie were devious and brutal and unrelenting, but they always showed 'perfect' images for all to see. I on the other hand—"

A sad sigh came out. "In all honesty, I don't think you could have helped me Tara. I think I'm just starting to realize that a lot of what I did was simply to get attention, make scenes that could embarrass my two sisters, do whatever I had too to strike back at them in whatever way I could by being publicly the nasty, evil bitch that they secretly were." Bonnie then looked over at Tara, her eyes full of apology, "and you were too nice a girl to get involved in that. I think what happed as far as us was for the best." Bonnie then dropped her head again wiping at misted eyes.

"So . . . how about now?" ventured Tara quietly.

Bonnie gave out a snort that was so loud it sounded like a bull. She shook her head again before looking up at Tara with an amused, confused, wondering, appalled, disbelievingly hopeful look on her face.

"Tara," and it came out as a breath, "you are a stunningly beautiful girl who could quickly become a world class model if that suited you. You have a level-headed young man who has a wonderful talent that will carry him far in life if you stay together." Bonnie's own hand then came up to flick through her own hair. "I on the other hand, have the looks of an angry boar, with hair that on its best day resembles a dirty floor mop. I have such a self-esteem problem that I was getting kelp wraps for God's sake for my looks and the only thing they were really doing were making my stomach sick, I was seeing a psychic who was feeding me the only good news that I thought I could believe in, as if any of _that_ ever came true. We won't even _touch_ upon the posse and the food chain prior to this last fall. Evil is a pair of much older sisters whom are brilliant and beautiful and _know_ it and flaunt it and wring out every single solitary advantage life can give them by riding roughshod over any and everybody who would get in the way of their plans—"

And Bonnie suddenly stopped as if hit by a flash of physical pain. Tara's eyes went wide and she came a step forward but Bonnie's voice stopped her, "and the Devil in Hell itself is the man who fate made as my Father. For everything he did to all of us, and everything that he got away with, may he rot there."

Bonnie sat for a moment, talking in deep breaths. As she calmed, she looked to Tara, "and you want this for a friend?"

"Yes," came the instant reply. "You're not perfect by any means Bonnie. But as I just admitted, I'm not either. I started out feeling just and secure in what I was doing. My faith was a huge part of it, something inside me saying that no matter how bad you were, there was some part of my friend in there that I could find and save. The rest was that need to make up for where I thought I had let you down. And I dumbly thought that others would understand and accept that." Tara closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath. "For all of his easy going, likable nature, Josh couldn't see it. I made the mistake of trying to talk to Monique about it and almost got belted. Jessica, who you _know_ is the most liberal, tree hugging, loves everybody, down with all war and violence backed away from me like I had bird flu."

Tara opened her eyes and there was dread in them. "Then the notes started to come. And—and I got scared. And I am scared of the hate and the ridicule from the other kids that I would have if they didn't think that I was just some religious 'missionary' to use your words. But at the same time," and now her face changed and she looked at Bonnie with earnest need. "I still _want_ to help you. I still _believe_ that you cannot be completely responsible for everything they say you are. Despite what you said before, Carla is an evil girl and even if you have yet to admit to yourself, she _had_ to influence much of what you did."

Tara came two steps closer to Bonnie's bed, total and complete conviction and sincerity filling her face and voice. "I believe that I can act as a buffer between you and everyone out there and help you when you get out and have to come back to the community." Tara then held out welcoming hands. "We had _fun_ together. We _talked_ as girlfriends. We _shared_ things. We got mad and made up." Tara sniffed mightily and added, "you were my _best friend_ Bonnie. To have that again, I will stand beside you again when you're ready to come out of these hospital walls."

"Get a bulletproof vest," Bonnie said with a snort. Again another head shake. "Part of the problem Tara is that there are _enemies_ out there who may want me dead rather than a talking witness. I didn't worry about Felix because he's—he's kind of harmless in their eyes."

Tara gave Bonnie a meaningful smile. "It's okay, I understand what you're saying but I'm willing to take the chance. I have guardians anyway." She saw Bonnie's eyes go wide. "What? Their angels my Mom sends to watch over all her kids."

Bonnie blinked and shook herself. Hearing that word had almost—

"Did," Tara now sounded hesitant, "did—ah . . . things didn't get . . . there wasn't a problem with . . . "

"No Tara, Felix and I did not develop crushes or anything on each other. He was very good for me, helped to open me up and I think that in a certain way that yes, I do love him, but not where anything could ever happen. Besides, having Kim as a blood enemy is bad enough. I don't need Monique wanting to rip my throat out as well."

Tara sighed, "yeah, poor Monique."

Bonnie, as sensitive as she was to vocal and body clues right now—

"You said that as if something was the matter?"

Tara's hand flew up to her mouth. "Oh, that's right, you wouldn't of heard."

Bonnie's eyes narrowed. "Heard what?"

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Once again he awoke with a start, feeling her shift against him. Ron held his breath, worried that she would realize that this was all wrong, that she _knew_ it was a mistake and that somehow it was _his fault_. His dreams had been nothing except of how he couldn't believe that this was really happening and that had kicked his finely honed sense of denial and fear/acceptance of rejection into high gear.

They were both on their sides, she in front of him, spooned tightly along his length. She gently twisted and moved again, murmuring something.

Ron's disquiet grew and rather than take any chances, he gently lifted his arm, which had been lying softy down the top of her upright hip and thigh, moving it safely back out of the way to his own.

That seemed to settle Kim down and Ron's own thudding heart gradually slowed. With a slow, relieved breath, he settled his head, closed his eyes and started to allow himself to go back to slee—

He felt Kim move again and his eyes snapped open. Kim's head had rotated around to face straight up. But her eyes were closed and it looked as if she was still mostly out, but her expression was that of a deep frown. There was a _very_ disapproving mumble then her free arm came around into view, blindly searching first her body, then working over to his . . . looking . . . for something—

Then Kim's hand fell atop his arm and it locked on with a grip of iron. Ron's eyes blew open to the size to dinner plates and he managed to keep his squeal to a minimum even as Kim relentlessly dragged his captured arm back toward her, her head rotating back down into the pillow as she pulled Ron's arm across her bare stomach up tightly in under her breasts even as she shimmied her body closer back into his while using the torque of his arm to pull him snugger into her.

The fact that Ron's heart was in his mouth kept him from breathing, which was good for it allowed him to hear what could _only_ be described as a contented sigh escape from a certain redheads lips as she snuggled back down and her breathing steadied, grew quiet again—

And she was _not_ letting go.

Ron forced himself to breath—

And with very little trouble, he forced himself to like the position he was in.

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Kim came awake slowly awake, aware instantly that things had changed. For one thing—

She started to roll over only to be caught up short when she realized that her 'lifemate', not only had he rolled over away from her, he was on top of a healthy part of her hair and she was 'hooked'.

_This is NOT_ she started to fume before she caught herself, the humor of the situation hitting her. She actually repressed a giggle. _Welcome to 'married' life I guess. Will this mean a braid or a bun every night?_

It took a minute for her too, with both hands reaching up behind her head to unwedge enough of her tresses so that she could roll over without hanging herself. She then contemplated Ron's bare shoulders for a moment before an impish grin came to her face. She raised her head up enough to see his face, clearly visible in the early morning light coming in the floor opening before ducking back down, deftly drawing the blankets down to expose more of him—

Kim, using the lightest fingertip touches she could, ran patterns on his back. She instantly got reactions, small jerks and movements. Her grin became fiendish as she increased the frequency.

Ron mumbled something. Kim kept it up, starting to run her fingers up as far as his shoulders and the nape of his neck which resulted in that neck to crane back towards her.

Another louder mumble. Kim was now torn between the desire of having him roll forward, off her hair and the fun she was having—

Then Ron's head cranked around almost all the way to her and in a sleepy but clear voice he said, "a little lower willya Rufus."

Kim's face literally exploded wide in surprise and—

"RUFUS!"

"OOFFFF!" was all Ron Stoppable could say as he suddenly found his face buried deep in the front of the base of the couch.

_Why do I have my face in the couch?_ Ron asked himself as he tried to ignore the impact on his swollen lip. _Why does the middle of my back hurt so much? Why did I think Rufus was scratching my back when it's Kim whose—_

Ron's eyes opened to the size of trashcan lids despite the fact that all he could see was couch. _I am sssoooooooo dead_ was his brilliant (and he was sure, last) thought.

Ron managed to level himself away and half roll over to look behind him. There he saw Kim, sitting sideways to him among the thick pile of blankets, using a brush from one of her pants cargo pockets to get the snarls and kinks out of her hair. Her strokes looked sharp and angry.

Ron finished rolling over, wincing at the sore spot in his back where she had shoved him. Kim had moved him, blankets and all, more than three feet across the rough floor. It always amazed him just how _strong_ she was, especially when she was angry (memories of her picking up an entire lemonade cart, even under the influence of the moodulator came to mind). So, he pulled himself back over into the pile with one arm (pulling the top blanket which had been covering them after him with the other).

Ron could tell, despite Kim's anger, that she was cold and her stubbornness was not allowing her to acknowledge it. He could _see_ the goose bumps on her skin (and the fact that he could see that much skin more than adequately shown off in the early morning light by a _very_ feminine set of lingerie in her favorite color _KNOCK IT OFF STOPPABLE_).

Ron came up behind her and drew the blanket about them both . . . which of course caused her to have to stop brushing her hair. "Ron?" she said with a warning tone.

But then his arms were around her, he was nuzzling her neck and he said, _very sincerely,_ "I'm sorry. I guess, I'm just not . . . quite use to the idea . . . that you really want this."

Kim instantly twisted around inside the blanket, pushing him and them both over, kissing him hard despite their mutual wounds. In moments, it lightened up and became a succession of gentle caresses, cuddles and kisses that lasted for a comfortable period.

Finally, Ron was able to feel comfortable enough to say, "again, I'm sorry, and I guess I should add, good morning. How do you feel?"

Kim gave him a look, half fuming, half embarrassed. "Well, other than being mistaken for a naked mole rat masseuse—" Ron gathered her tightly into his arms and she snuggled in there. "Oh Ron, did you really feel him?"

"Yes," and Kim was soooo relieved to hear the absolute conviction in his voice. She still didn't understand a lot of what had happened to Ron with the Mystical Monkey Power and there were times when she got upset and frustrated with his inability to tell her the full story of it but right now she didn't care. He said that Rufus was alive and well and—

"And you think Global Justice has him?"

Ron's brow furrowed. "It's difficult to describe. But," and he had to hesitate. "My impression when our minds touched was that he was with people he knew and trusted but that they were in the middle of a major tactical operation. He was," and again a pause and Ron tried to put the mental impressions together, "he was acting as a scout, but it was like in a lair or something. Hallways and air conditioning ducts. Doctor Director and Global Justice are the only ones that _I_ can think of that he would know and trust well enough to do that for. And it was voluntary. I got no impression of anything being against his will."

Now Kim's face was folded in thought. "Well, makes sense. And GJ would certainly be able to get him away from Sherrie Winer without any evidence of a break in at her house. But why would they rescue him from her and not tell _us_? Why and how would they even know she had Rufus?"

"And why," Ron worried, "cant I contact them, or _any_ of our secret or government contacts. Not one. Nada. And not busy or wrong numbers, the phone just goes dead when you try to call."

Kim had to admit that she didn't have an answer for that but it did raise an interesting point. "You know Ron," she mused, "you said that you had some clues that what had been happening outside of Bonnie was the work of someone, or something in an organized assault on us. I told you that Whitler had given me reasons to believe the same thing. Doesn't it strike you strange that if such an 'attack' was being conducted against us, that Global Justice wouldn't have told us about it long ago."

Ron's eyes went wide with an amazed, "yyeeaaahhhhhh!" in response. Ron's face then shut back down and you could _see_ the wheels turning—

"So you think KP that Global Justice is maybe a target as well and has . . . I don't know, had to retreat or go underground?"

Kim smiled, "you can't get more underground then them."

"Good point," Ron conceded.

But then Kim's face grew careful again. "But I think its something that we need to be very cautious about. You couldn't contact Agent Smith's agency either?" Ron just shook his head with a grim look and Kim gave a nod of acknowledgement. After a moments thought, she narrowed her eyes and ventured, "this could mean that it's a much wider conspiracy then we ever imagined."

"But how do we find out?" Ron wondered. "We're deaf and blind right now it seems."

Kim could only shake her head. "I don't know." Then she closed her eyes and snuggled in closer against him. "And for the next hour or so, I really don't want to care." She squeezed him hard, saying as she did so, "I've done a lot of soul searching this last week Ron and I've realized a lot of area's were I was stubborn, shallow, conceited, spoiled, and naive. But one of the biggest things I realized was that I was afraid to face my feelings for you. The fact that I, like any regular girl, am at times, confused, angry, perplexed, again naive, most definitely at times lost, about how I feel, about how I should feel, about how I _want_ to feel."

Kim rotated around, her arms coming around his neck drawing their faces close—

"All week at camp," her voice was soft but pain filled, "you were this black hole that my being was forever rotating around. And I was fighting so hard to keep from being sucked into it because of the pain that was there. The pain of everything that I had done to you, and to us. I couldn't handle that until I had a chance to find myself, find out just what I had done to myself that was so wrong so that I was no longer the girl you loved."

Kim stopped and brought their heads together so that their foreheads were touching. In a voice full of wonder, "and through it all, in the lonely nights, when I couldn't sleep, despite my fears, I would allow myself to touch that black hole and I—" and there was a catch in her throat which stopped her.

Ron gently gripped her back of Kim's head and brought his back to that he could kiss her softly on her forehead before coming back down in order to breathe into her ear, "I will always love you KP. Even when I get moody and you get angry and we fight and have to walk away, it will never—" and then Ron choked.

This time Kim brought her lips up to Ron's ear and whispered into them, "no it never will. And I know that now. And more importantly, I think I really believe it despite all my teen girl insecurities—"

Ron chuckled and gently rubbed her (bare except for bra-strap _groan_) back with his hands as he softly said, "hey, being scared and insecure is _my_ job in this partnership."

Kim tried to find some fat she could pinch but his lean body didn't have any so she had to settle for pulling a wedgie on his boxers as she growled, "you are a goof Stoppable. That is _not_ what I'm saying and you know it!" She then released her torture device as his eyes started to cross and crushed him to her even as his breath let go in a rush. "I thank God and everything for you Ron. Any other boy would have cut and run at a tenth of all the grief and hassle you've been put through, despite the love you have for me, especially considering that I couldn't—" and then Kim hesitated.

Ron felt it and then pulled back enough to be able to look into her face. There was a frightened look there. He guessed the reason.

"You're afraid to try to say it again?"

Kim bit her lip, squeezed her eyes tight against tears and gave a jerky nod.

Ron felt a rush of sympathy and concern and opened his mouth to reassure her—

"Kim! Ron!"

Immediately the two teens heads came back, wide eyed and opened mouthed—

"My Mom?" Kim breathed in surprised terror.

Ron looked at her—

"Ron? Are you and Kim up there?"

And their faces lost all control as Ron cringed, "my Mom? What could be—"

Then a look of horror came over Kim's features and Ron paled when he saw it. "Kim? What?"

Kim's mouth opened but it took three times before she could manage to say, "m—m—my Mom knew where we were going to be and what I wanted to do. The only r—r—reason why she, a—and your Mom would be here is that something must of. . . something b—bad—"

Ron felt his face fall—

"Kim! Ron!"

"Coming," he shouted as he peeled away the blankets with one hand and grabbed his shirt with one hand, shrugging into it. Ron then grabbed Kim's top and helped her as she seemed to have been struck with paralysis at the very thought—

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Mrs. Possible and Mrs. Stoppable stood anxiously at the base of the tree looking up at the hole in the floor. Mrs. Stoppable was apprehensive enough at the fact that these teen children had spent the night 'sleeping' together despite their long history of trust and friendship (love, stress and seventeen year old hormones _could_ do things despite all good intentions). Mrs. Possible, bearing the brunt of their purpose here was so torn and occupied on a multitude of levels that she—

Then two equally anxious young faces appeared in the opening.

"Mom?" was all Kim could manage to squeak.

Kim's mom took a deep breath. "There's been an accident at the Space Center."

Kim felt her life stop as she scrambled into Ron even as he enveloped her as all her thought went to her fath—

"Your Father is physically okay," her mother went on and Kim blinked at the qualifying statement. Then what—? What had her mother told her that her father had been doing?

"Oh God!" Kim breathed, "Not Felix?"

Kim felt Ron's shocked reaction next to her even as her mother grimly nodded.

In silence they just stared at each other for more than a minute before Kim could find the strength to pull herself and Ron back from the portal, "let's get dressed—"

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Kim didn't think that she could ever be _physically_ numb without being actually injured. But that was the sensation as she stared through the glass window at the shaking, twitching figure in the medical bed in the far room.

Dr Wong, her father's boss stood besides her, watching the scene with an equally grim expression. Ron, whose hand would be crushing Kim's if she was capable of feeling it stood on her other side and blurted, "This happened twenty hours ago, you don't _know_ what's happening to him, and," and Ron pointed with his free one, "you can't take that _thing_ off of him?"

The 'thing' was a fully encompassing helmet that covered the entire head of the form that was lying in the medical bed. Dr. Wong sadly nodded her head in agreement. "At this point we can't do anything. At this point we don't _know_ anything—"

"Other than the fact that thing has taken over Felix's mind," Ron finished.

The Doctor hesitated. "We don't think that's what really has occurred here. The experiment was for Felix to remotely control aspects of the robot probe using the virtual reality helmet and biofeedback directly from his brain. He was to directly 'think' the probe to do things. What has happened is that a negative feedback 'loop' has invaded the system and Felix's mind, which was 'in' the probe at the time, got swept up in and along with it."

The Doctor sighed heavily and turned to the two teens, the weight of responsibility lying hard on her shoulders. "Every precaution had been taken against just such an event. Even so, it was a possibility and young Felix knew it. His mother was concerned but he volunteered to go ahead anyway."

Kim, who continued to stare in sick horror at her friend in the other room, "but when you say that you don't know what's happening? Is he in pain? The way his whole body is twitching—"

"We _don't _know," the Doctor sadly insisted. "Other than the elevated heart rate and blood pressure showing the stress on his body, we have no indicators of his condition. All of his brain functions have merged with the feedback wave, which has totally taken over the link with the probe. Right now," and Wong had to look back worriedly at the form, "we don't know if there's anything there to feel anything."

Kim's eyes came around to the doctor with an appalled look of sudden understanding. "You mean that you may have _lost_ Felix?"

The Doctor didn't look at her, replying in a low voice. "We just don't know."

Kim whirled around at the sensation next to her, Ron's hand leaving hers! Him, his head down, forearm across his face to hide his sudden explosion of tears and grief as he ran blindly through the other scientists, a cry escaping his throat as he tore out of the room.

Kim took long enough to cast a longing, pleading look at Doctor Wong who could only shrug helplessly in response. Kim then herself went out, although she too, had no idea what she could possibly do.

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With no idea which way Ron could have run, Kim could only head generally toward the main entrance of the building. As luck or fate would have it, this led her past the front of her father's office where she spotted her mother standing forlornly in the hall.

"Mom?" Kim asked as she trotted up, as upset as anything else to her mother, normally such a rock, looking this way, "what—"

"I'm worried about your Father," she said in a tight, strained voice that scared Kim more than anything she had ever heard from her mother before.

"What is it?" Kim could only ask.

"He . . . " and that was all her mother could say—and that alarmed Kim even more. Then Mrs. Possible nodded in the direction of her husband's office door indicating that Kim should go look for herself.

Kim felt her heart go into her mouth. All the stress, uncertainty and craziness of the last couple of weeks was crashing back. She couldn't do it!

Then she heard was sounded like shouting inside.

Her father . . . shouting!

Kim practically tiptoed in, the volume of the conversation she was overhearing climbing with every step she advanced. It was liberally laced with technical jargon she didn't understand but every sentence seemed to start with "I want you to start looking into the possibility of—" and ended with "and keep looking until you find it. Failure is NOT an option."

She didn't even get all the way in through the outer office before shock brought Kim to a stop. The door was open enough for her to see in and her father's normally immaculate office floor was buried under a haphazard pile of plans, books, and documents, all of it seemingly strewn about.

Then her father thundered past the door, phone at his ear, oblivious to everything else.

Kim thought it was another person.

His collar was open and his tie was pulled open and down to almost his mid-chest. His cuffs were undone and sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He needed a shave.

He stopped and reversed directing right in front of the door, his eyes passing right across his daughter—

They were ten million miles away on the link of a space probe and the correcting of a problem that he held himself personally—

Now Kim understood. Despite the fact that she knew that he nether saw nor heard her, she still tiptoed her way back out and into her mother's arms.

They held each other for the longest time. Finally, Kim started to force herself to let go. She had to go find Ron. He needed her. He—

"Where's Ron?" her mom wanted to know. Kim told her. Mrs. Possible looked grim as she pushed her daughter away. "I know you want to go after him but . . . there's something else that should be done first and . . . you should be one of the ones to do it."

Kim could only look on her mother with fresh apprehension.

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Monique looked up surprised as the P/A system called her name, telling her to report to the Admin Office. As she headed over there from the classroom block, she wondered if her lawyer had come up with some new information that would help her case. So it was with a certain hopeful anticipation that she went into the office—

Only to be greeted by a grim faced attendant—

Monique felt everything go gut-wrench hard. What could—

The attendant showed her into an interview room and Monique world started to spin—

Her parents, faces frightened and—

Mrs. Possible, grim and concerned—

_Kim_, worried and scared and shaking even as she came toward Monique with her arms held out to provide comfort—

And Monique **_KNEW!_**

And started to collapse into a sobbing ruin crying, "Felix" even as Kim managed to catch her from falling—

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Kim stood in front of Ron's bedroom door and finally leaned forward to allow her weight to fall into it. Despite her cries and pleas, Ron wouldn't even acknowledge her existence outside. After a moment, she felt something on her shoulder and she looked over to see Mrs. Stoppable there, a sympathetic smile on her face. The older woman could only give a shrug.

Kim nodded as she stood back upright. She gave the door one last longing look and managed, "Ron, call me! I'll be waiting when you're ready." She then gave Ron's mom a trembling but grateful smile and turned for the stairs.

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Kim lay on her bed in her loft. She realized that it was now the middle of the afternoon. That meant that she had been here hours without moving, without really thinking—

And she realized that the blackness of her past days was hovering over her like a cloud of the darkest, thickest smoke waiting to settle on her and choke her back to a life as dead and as helpless as she had been before—

Her mother, her rock of a mother, last seen standing before the big window downstairs, staring off into the distance, looking as lost and as alone as a puppy in the rain. Her father, under that driving, directing voice on the phone, she could _hear_ the panic and the fear rending him to his very core. Monique, collapsed in a heap on the floor in juvenile hall, totally broken, left hollow eyed in the arms of her mother.

Ron . . . what of Ron?

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She stood there looking out, a hollowness eating away at her insides as she saw the ruination of so much that she had rallied against, so much that she loved, so much that she had worked for. But she only saw, she didn't believe.

Even now, as she stood, her mind churned in its logical, methodical way, looking for cracks in the arguments, looking for inconsistencies in the stories. They were there. She was sure of it.

And when she found them, she would, in her own way, help bring those facts or ideas to light or being by those who would most benefit or who could make them happen best. Despite outwards appearances, she would not give up hope. There would always be hope, and she would always try to find and bring it to those who needed it.

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By this time, the initial feelings had faded and had been transformed into a kind of dull burning anger. For that's what it was. And it was an anger that was solely directed at the evasiveness of the solution.

For the problem was simple. It was finite. It might be extremely complex in its construction or execution but the bottom line was that somewhere, somehow, an 'i' hadn't been dotted or a 't' hadn't been crossed and the result was what he was now dealing with.

It was of course complicated by the fact that it was endangering human life and had rendered his primary engineer in the design team ineffective. But, once he managed to get his own emotions harnessed, under control and effectively directed, it was a simple matter of a simple problem requiring a simple answer.

And he _would_ find it!

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She had faith.

As she lay on her lumpy bunk in the big, impersonal dorm, she had faith.

Her friends had gotten through tougher times than this. Had defeated worst things.

She believed in them!

And she knew that they wouldn't let her down!

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His eyes still had tears in them, his chest still burned!

But he refused to wallow in his sadness.

True, it had nearly killed him to turn a deaf ear to her calls and cries at his door but he didn't want to say anything until he was absolutely certain!

So now, he sat at his old modem powered computer, working the chat rooms, calling in favors with friends of friends of people whom owed him or her for one thing or another. Hooking up with people who know how to do what he needed to do, who knew how to get what he needed to find.

They needed answers!

**_SHE_** deserved answers!

And he was going to get them for her, one way or another!

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It was just starting to get dark when awareness came back to Kim. With a sudden sharpness, she realized that she was at a crossroads. She had to make a decision. Fight or flight. Accept the darkness and allow it to take her or fight through it to the light.

She slowly rose from her bed. She felt disjointed, adrift. Everyone important in her life seemed to have gone off into their own little world of grief and misery, leaving her, and her alone to deal with her own feelings.

Abandoned was what she was.

And yet—

Kim looked around her room, the feeling of disjointment growing. Something seemed to be missing.

It took a moment, but the feeling took her that something definitely was missing and she forced herself to look closer, at her room, and at herself, trying to figure what it was that was missing—

Kim's eyes went wide when her eyes hit the spot. In moments she turned and went out of her window, out into the dusk, out into the woods to find what was missing.

Almost as if on instinct, her feet led her unerringly to the spot (although she had not seen it with her eyes) and she stopped abruptly. Kneeling down, she carefully lifted the prom picture of her and Ron from the grass. She had to be careful for the glass had shattered in the frame. Portions of the photo around all the edges had smeared and run from moisture but—

The center, with the two of them together, looked as good as the day it was taken.

Somehow, that flame, that fire, deep inside Kim Possible that had never quite totally recovered now came back into its full roaring glory—

Kim hugged the photo to her breast as the tears coursed down her face.

"Kim!"

Kim whirled about, her heart leaping at _that_ voice to see Ron looking out of her window, searching for her—

"Ron!" she called, waving her hand as she leapt up and broke into a run back towards the house, still holding the picture against her. Ron saw her and waved, calling as she ran up below him, "what were you doing?"

Kim stopped and started to reply—

And stopped again.

She glanced down at the picture again. So much made sense now.

"Kim," came the voice from above her.

"I was finding the last piece Ron. The last piece of myself. The one that tells me to really believe in and trust my feelings, no matter how strong or scary they are."

Ron looked perplexed. "And that's good?"

Kim let out a laugh of pure joy. "You bet Stoppable," and her voice carried it so well that Ron couldn't help but grin with her.

"Well, Booyah for you KP."

Kim grinned up at Ron. "It's more than a simple Booyah Ron! It goes all the way to a complete and total, out of the clear blue, with no hesitation or stuttering, I LOVE YOU RON STOPPABLE."

Ron's face exploded in surprise and he was OUT the window with a "BOOYAH!" that shook the neighborhood, landing at her feet even as they came together in a laughing/crying, swinging each other in circles hug!

"Kim!" came a cry from the side of the house and the two of them stopped in sudden fear. Her mom came around, her face looked at the teens and they were amazed to see—

Anger—

Mrs. Stoppable just waved them to follow.

Going into the living room, Kim sucked in a breath to see her father—

He looked a wreck, disheveled and messy.

But his eyes were on fire and his voice was that of a snapping bullwhip.

"What happened to Felix was no accident!"

Kim sucked in an agonized breath and felt Ron's arms going around her from behind.

"D—daddy?" was all she could manage.

Mr. Possible's voice continued to snap. "I don't know how, I don't know why, and they better hope that I don't find out who, but we have managed to model the frequency of the feedback wave and it _can't_ be a natural occurring one. It was induced!" and Mr. Possible's face turned to iron, "it was deliberate sabotage! And it was meant to include Felix's brainwaves as a part of the mix. It wouldn't have worked on anyone else."

"Oh daddy," Kim managed. She could _see_ the rage in her father but she could also _feel_ the relief in him from knowing that what had happened had not been his fault. In moments she pulled away from Ron and was hugging her father for all she was worth, her mother joining in, her mother then pulling Ron in—

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The four of them stood on the balcony in the gathering twilight. Ron had passed around the copies of chat room printout that he had made from his work with the various computer geeks and hackers he had banded together to get his questions answered.

"So," Ron finished explaining, "Global Justice along with all of the other 'black' law enforcement and intelligence agencies have been 'dark' for over two months due to this concentrated hacker attack on them. As its been a 'black' ops, the press and general public know nothing about it or aren't talking under dire threat. The hacker community has been sitting back and watching as it is unprecedented and frankly very frightening to them because their afraid of what will happen once its over and the inevitable new laws, regulations and enforcements are implemented by the effected governments. They haven't been talking either because as soon as they have, they've been scooped up for questioning. It seems that rules and constitutional rights are out the window things are so serious."

Ron's face grew even grimmer. "The fact remains that besides suppressing the black network operations, whoever the 'bad' guys are, they were interested in two things. The first is information that could be hurtful and/or embarrassing to one Kimberly Anne Possible and," and Ron and to stop and take a hesitant breath, "and the other is searching for information and individuals who could assist in exploiting the research of one Doctor Vaultaslof."

Kim felt as if a brick had hit her in the chest. She turned with a disbelieving look to her father and— "Dad, did you ever get a chance to make that check on Dr. Vaultaslof and if you knew anyone who could give us a clue—"

Her father was already shaking his head, his face and eyes hard. "That got locked down tighter that a drum Kimmy-cub and now maybe we know the reason why."

But her eyes also hardened. "I'd say your right Dad." Then she looked to her mom and then to her boyfriend. "And I'd say that we have a pretty good idea now just what has been going on."

"Drew Lipsky," Mr. Possible stated with and angry emphasis on the name, "steals whatever it is that Dr Vaultaslof researches. It is possibly extremely dangerous given the 'black' groups interest in it and the suppression of their operations.

"Dr. Drakken," Kim's mom continues with a logical tone, "knowing that whatever he has of Vaultaslof's will be highly sought after to be returned, arranges with some, shall we say, world class hacker or group of hackers to nullify Global Justice and all the other international police agencies while he prepares his world conquering scheme. It must be a major research or construction job requiring a long period so the amount of time the enforcement agencies had to be disabled is extensive. Quite an accomplishment if you ask me."

"As was the time that Drakken's greatest enemy had to be disabled," Ron said with complete awareness and total assurance. He looked at the other three even as the realization came to them, Mr. and Mrs. Possible pulling themselves upright, eyes wide before going to a look of sudden understanding.

Abject shock passed in/over/through Kim as she looked at Ron and then, it really hit her. "Shego!" she blurted.

Ron nodded. "Probably the guiding brain behind it. Like what you said Whitler believed and what I suspected about the nurse that convinced my Mom to turn on you in the hospital, there was a directing force above and behind everything beyond Bonnie. And what better and more malicious mind to be that focusing push—"

Anger, almost rage blew into Kim Possible's face. But she instantly fought to control it. There was too much, Felix, Monique, whatever grandiose plan Drakken was working, she couldn't allow rage to cloud her thinking—

But—

"Push you said Ron?" Kim said turning away from the group even as she took his hand and pulled him around with her. They walked to the balcony railing where they stood for a moment, staring out into the west where the last of the light was fading. Kim felt her parents come up behind them, her mother holding her father who was seething with the newfound knowledge.

"I think," Kim said with a very cool, very hard voice, "that's its time that we started to push back. And push hard!" She looked back over her shoulder at her parents. "All of us together."

Her dad gave one of his exaggerated nods. Her mom, that sleeping, deadly dragon ready to strike, just gave a wisp of a smile.

Kim's eyes came over to Ron and found his staring into hers.

"I love you," they said at the exact same moment.

"Jinx," Ron managed over her surprise. He grinned hugely. "You owe me a soda."

Kim grinned back at him. "No sodas for that particular phrase mister. Not now or ever." And despite being right in front of her father, she gave him a short but hard kiss as payment.

Kim and Ron then looked out into the gathering darkness, Kim saying out into it, "I hope you liked your nice quite run Shego cause it's over. I'm back, better than ever because I'm loved and in love. So you better start running." Then she added under her breath, "because I'm gonna kick your green butt so hard that your green glow is going to go _out_! Maybe permanently."


	20. Two Edged Sword

She stood, as upright and as stiff as a lightning rod, the breeze flowing her long red hair carelessly and unnoticed around her face and shoulders. Her legs wide, her arms spread with fists closed so hard that her knuckles where white—

Her jaw was clenched to the point of pain with teeth gritted, her eyes blazed as they stared off into the trees . . . seeing nothing but what was in the vision of her minds eye—

Flashes of the day came back to her . . .

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_She remembered with bemused affection_

"A girl?" Kim asked the question with the deliberate tone that she knew would fluster Ron to his very core, managing _not_ to smile or giggle as she was doing so.

"Ah . . . well . . . you see . . . it's not like that . . . " came the stammering reply as the instant sweat broke out and the blond boy next to her frantically pulled at the collar of his mission shirt with one finger.

It was almost like old times. Kim had literally sat down and taken a moment to cry when she had dug in and taken her mission clothes out of her closet. And once they were on her body, it was like a lost part of her self had been restored.

As it may well have been, for the tears come again when Ron appeared wearing his and the healing became almost whole (Wade and Rufus were still missing but definitely not forgotten). Kim had held Ron in the tightest embrace she thought she had ever imagined for a whole minute, relishing the fact that it was being returned in kind.

And now, they were together in the back of an aircraft on loan from her fathers Space Center and they were taking the time, to take the time, to find out what each other had learned, about themselves, and about what they had found out, or suspected about their ongoing situation. And right now, they were talking about Ron's Internet intelligence and how he had managed to get it.

Kim (somehow managing to keep her tone both suspicious and severe) gave Ron a hard look and asked, "it's not like . . . what?"

Ron's jaw continued to move although all sound stopped coming out of it and if he could grow antlers, he could go into the photo dictionary as an example of something caught in a set of headlights.

Kim then busted it loose and leaned over to give him a quick but hard kiss though her laughter.

"K—K—Kim!" Ron managed to get out, "you don't think—"

She kept her arms around Ron's neck and beamed at him. "I don't think, I know," she said softly. "But that doesn't mean that if you set yourself up so perfectly, that I'm not going to take the shot."

Ron's eyes narrowed as he grinned. "Okay Possible. If that's the way its gonna be."

Kim lowered her eyes right back at him. "Alls fair in love. And now that I can finally say it, I intend to make all the opportunities I can." She then released his neck and pulled herself back upright. "So there's this girl?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, she's a computer geek friend of Wade's. One of his close-in network. He gave me the address and password to the ultra-geek chat room they use right after I broke up with Zita. We did the chat thing for a while but I just wasn't geeky enough, computer geeky that is. But we did have a couple of common interests like cooking so we stayed in touch."

Ron turned his head away looking a little embarrassed. "I tried a couple of times to get her to do homework, or research projects or school papers for me but she would get really upset. Once she hacked into my computer and—" he just stopped and pursed his lips in silent contemplation.

Kim just raised an eyebrow at Ron and after a moment he grinned sheepishly and went on. "Anyway, Bonita, that's her name, knew of course what happened to Wade and when I told her what I suspected about that nurse and my mom. And then she added what the Web said was going on. It was more than a couple of nights where I was up till morning as she led me through, introducing me to various hackers and chat rooms where information was exchanged and rumors were thrown about."

"Ten minutes!" came the pilots voice through the speaker.

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_She remembered surprise, trepidation and horror!_

"What happened here?"

Kim could hear in Ron's voice the echoes of exactly what was reverberating throughout her entire being.

Palm trees blow into splinters, craters in the sand, reefs and rises of the island, tracks and marks in the terrain marking the landing of helicopters and/or hovercraft—

But none of it compared to the fact that the once imposing citadel on the towering volcanic ridge that had dominated the island was now a shattered, still smoking ruin.

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_She remembered feeling sick to her stomach, disoriented, disjointed._

Kim and Ron, along with the crew from the Space Center craft made their way through the wreckage of Drakken's island. Littered equipment, sometimes singles, sometimes trails of or piles of cartridge cases spoke of the moving lines of assault teams and the defensive points that opposed them. In one clearing, in the soft sand—

"R—R—R—on" Kim chattered even as he back-peddled into her in wide-eyed horror before they turned and mutually reached for each other at the sight—

The explosion must have buried the henchman. But in the period since, the tropical breezes had partially exhumed the corpse—

Both of them felt a sure, steady hand on their outside shoulders. "You kids go back around toward the beach," Kim's mother said firmly. "Let me handle this."

Kim and Ron, unable to tear their eyes away, slowly withdrew, leaving Mrs. Dr. Possible, dressed in her mission clothes just kneeling down along side of—

The two teens turned away once they had backed around the corner of the clearing, hugging each other fiercely. Kim was now soo glad that her mom had insisted on coming along with her daughter and future son-in-law.

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_She remembered feeling dazed, disbelieving._

Kim and Ron had given up all pretense of stealth as they moved through the lower levels of the citadel. It was obvious that it had fallen to a major assault and that in itself—

The two teens stopped dead, bug-eyed with hanging jaws as they entered through the ruins of the smashed blast doors into the underground lab.

The sky was visible through the rents in the high ceiling.

"I can't believe this," Kim whispered, actually afraid to raise her voice. "Not even any of the times that _we_ caused something to blow up in here did _that_ happen."

Ron couldn't even nod his head. He was too busy swallowing and fighting down his nausea from all the spots and places where there had been all too much evidence of injury and death. "I—" he barely managed, "I can't believe that Drakken would have his men . . . his men . . . fight . . . and—"

Kim felt herself pale at Ron's unspoken ending for that sentence. She too, knew that she was in furious denial about what they had seen.

But in the end, there was no escaping the truth. And the evidence was that it had been a tremendous battle. And that was even more difficult for them to accept, especially from Drakken.

Suddenly Ron turned around holding his stomach, "I have to get out of here," and he actually broke into a full run.

And Kim was running right behind him.

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_She remembered feeling lost, a feeling that all that had been known had been shattered._

The way Ron had run had been the shortest way out (they had after all been in the place enough times that they knew it as well as Drakken and Shego did) but had actually led to the beach on the opposite side they had come in on. Ron ran down to just above the surf line before he collapsed, sucking in huge gulps of air, which he then started to burp back out. Kim plopped down behind him, holding his head and shoulder as she half hunched over him in her own grief, distress, misery and confusion.

It was several minutes before Ron's breathing stabilized and Kim felt that she could ask, "what do you think happened here?"

There was a long silence from Ron and she wondered if he had heard her. Kim opened her mouth in concern for him—

"I think," Ron said in a tight, almost angry voice, "that this must have been the battle that Rufus was involved in."

"No!" was all Kim could say in horror.

But there was absolute conviction in Ron's voice. "There was a . . . a 'feel' to him. As if he knew where he was, that he was familiar with where he was and where he was going. He'd have that here."

"But Global Justice would never mount an assault like this," Kim breathed in disbelief. "Not with the military style weapons that have done the kind of damage we've seen. Not with the . . . the" and her voice choked off.

"The body count we've seen evidence of," Ron finished for her and she felt him shudder with her. "I agree. So it had to be someone else's. Military Special Forces or Government Black Ops. And that means—"

"Someone fears the worst as far as Drakken and what he's done with Vaultaslof's work," Kim whispered as if afraid of her own thoughts. "And given what Drakken had his henchmen do to defend this place—" and she again paled as the thought moved deeper into her. She was suddenly hugging Ron's head. "What could Drakken be _doing_? What could have happened? This isn't _like_ him."

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_She remembered being shocked . . . and very, very—_

Kim didn't . . . she had never felt so . . . she was just . . . disjointed and disconnected from everything she thought she knew and understood. Even on that other island where she had been shot at, there she had been overwhelmed with fear, foreboding and need. Here, as she and Ron headed along the beach to circle around back to where the Space Center craft had landed, she couldn't even come up with a concrete emotion to anchor herself against all the unknowns that were ripping through her.

So, even as they passed numerous pieces of evidence that this side of Drakken's island had not been excluded from the violence that had visited it, Kim felt her mind wandering in a way totally alien to her. And for one who was normally so focused and concentrated, it caused an almost nauseated feeling.

It was all the more . . . tweaking to her then when she walked past a spot, something there was literally screaming at her senses, and she was just too out of sorts to actually realize it. By the time she and Ron had moved on down the beach, it was practically hammering in her ears and she was biting her lower lip. At last in desperation she whirled around—

And Ron, who had his head down in dejection walked right into her—

It took half a second to end up in a tangled pile in the sand, three seconds for Ron to say, "ah, sorry," and another two seconds for Kim to say, "you are soooooo dead."

Kim led Ron, who was in his 'crouched-ready to flee in fear' mode, back toward the spot that had ignited her senses. Initially she couldn't find anything. "Ah, good," Ron said in hasty relief, "we can get back to the jet then?"

But Kim circled out and back around to where she had first felt the sensation—

And she saw it—

And she almost ran Ron over as she stampeded up to the edge of the jungle to reach in and snatch something dangling from a low branch.

And Ron sucked in a breath when he saw the torn shard of distinctive black/green material in Kim's clenched hand.

But the hatred and rage in Kim's face changed when she took the entire strip in hand and— "R—Ron?" in a suddenly amazed voice, she showed him the ragged green end, stained dark in what could only be—

Ron paled and convulsively swallowed. Kim looked forward into the undergrowth and her eyes narrowed as she saw what might have been a what was left of a bloody handprint on the side of a rock, a remnant remaining after how many afternoon tropical rains.

Kim felt a flash, white-hot flame course through her. _You'd better not be dead Shego_ she raged in her mind. _You've got too much to pay for to be dead_. And with that, Kim threw down the scrap and forged ahead into the jungle.

"KP?" Ron stammered behind her before forcing himself to go in after her. Ron's head was on a swivel, trying to look in all directions (he just wasn't sure what it was he was looking for) and he _almost_ ran into Kim again when she abruptly stopped in front of a tightly twisted thicket of rocks and trees.

Then Kim was down and crawling into a small hole, causing Ron's eye to grow to the size of trashcan lids. "KP, what are you doing? There might be scorpions or snakes in there?"

Kim's voice, tight with rage snapped back out at him. "Look at the rock at the entrance Ron! Blood and more material. The only snake in here is a pale skinned female who I intend to _skin_!"

It suddenly hit Ron. Shego! Maybe injured? Maybe to the point of helplessness? Kim was mad with anger, hungry for revenge. _She wouldn't, she couldn't—_

Ron's own feelings twisted about him like a cyclone. Yes, he was angry, no! _MAD_ at Shego for what she had done to his love. But his _rage_ was directed at the one whom he knew had to be behind it all—

Drakken!

The same man who had always teased and tormented him as a nothing, a non-entity and who now still, ignored him as if he didn't exist, focusing all the attacks, all the attention and the pain and the grief on his love instead allowing him, Ron Stoppable, to be a target and take his fair share and perhaps spare Kim some of the pain that she had gone through.

But now Ron was focused on something else entirely. He knew still just how fragile Kim's balance could be and the intensity of her anger, her _HATE_, scared him. Because of that, he was afraid _for her_! That she would do something in a moment that she would later regret.

So, he found himself in the unenviable task of being her conscious and self-control—

Whether she wanted it or not!

And unfortunately, it looked like the moment might be here!

All this flashed through Ron's mind in an instant prior to his taking a huge breath and dropping down onto his own knees, heedless of his fear now, crawling in after his girl, knowing that he had to make sure that she _wouldn't/couldn't_.

"KP?" he called in a loud stage whisper into the darkness ahead of him. There was no reply, no sound at all, and that made Ron worry even more—

Ron came into the 'den' under the overhead of roots and fallen logs. Enough light came through cracks for him to see Kim's back not two feet in front of him. She was hunched down under the roots, blocking his view of all else in the tiny space. Other 'things' could be seen moving, skittering in the various patches of light as their space had been violated by the two human intruders. But these small insects made no sound.

There was only one sound present and it took a moment for Ron to identify. It was Kim and she was quietly crying.

"KP?" Ron asked in total mystification.

"It's _not fair_!" came back the angry, hurt reply and Kim's right fist pounded onto the floor of the den sending more of its denizens scurrying. ""She's totally messed up Ron, completely out and absolutely helpless and I WANT TO CHOKE HER RIGHT HERE!"

Ron slowly came forward, doing all that he could possibly do in this situation, which was come from behind, wrap his arms around his girl from behind, and give her all his love, support and comfort—

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_She remembered feeling angry, cheated . . ._

"Kim," her mother said in a firm tone, "if you don't wipe that glowering look off of your face, it's going to stick there."

Kim looked away, eyes brimming with a sudden wave of tears, at a complete loss as to why her mother didn't seem to understand or accept the intensity of her feelings toward her mother's current patient.

Shego was in one of the small crew bunks on the Space Center craft. Kim's mom, using the crafts own medical gear along with the equipment she had brought, had set up a mini-trauma station for Kim's old foe. Kim, while allowing her hatred, anger and desire for revenge to simmer on the back burner, had been appalled despite herself at her fighting rivals injuries and the fact that Shego was still alive considering how old the wounds appeared to be, _Ron felt Rufus in the battle the night I attacked Ron in the hospital. That was better than a week and a half ago!_

When Kim was sure that her emotions were in check, she looked back to her mom—

And again, Kim was struck with the feeling that her mom—

Maybe that was why her mom wasn't in sync with her. Something had her mom unsettled as well. And that something could only be Shego and it could only be whatever it was that her mother's medical instruments were telling her.

And it was Kim's sudden guess that it wasn't Shego's current medical condition that was the cause of her mother's anxiety. Was her mothers instruments reveling some of Shego's secrets maybe? Kim's other hand came up to her left arm where the scars from the battle in Bueno Nacho Headquarters were a real and permanent flaw marring her body. If she didn't kill Shego first, and if this crazy situation they were in didn't result in Shego being thrown into a hole somewhere with the key being tossed in after her," _I'm going to have to pump my mom for all I can get out of her. Shego and I have almost always fought to a draw. If my mom has found info with which I can get an edge up—_

Just then, Ron was at her side. "Mrs. Dr. P?" he asked Kim's mom quietly, even as he lovingly squeezed his girlfriends elbow, "everyone is back aboard. The pilot is wondering if it's okay to take off or will it disturb what you're doing?"

Kim's mom didn't even glance up when she replied, "tell him to go ahead Ron."

Her boyfriend left the small compartment. Kim watched as her mom stowed away small items that were projectile hazards as she heard/felt the crafts engines start their wind up. As the vibration through the entire structure grew—

"Kim, hold the IV bag please."

Kim felt a sudden, deep loathing for doing anything to 'help' her foe. She had refused to help extricate Shego out of the den causing that to be done by Ron (who was now definitely feeling it in his barely healed spots) and the thinnest of the Space Center crafts crewmen. Then, with a deliberate turn of her head and change of vocal tone, her mother looked at her, "Kim!"

The vibration died down once they were in airborne horizontal flight. Kim released the IV and its tubes, abruptly turning away—

"I think you need to think about the way your feeling," came the soft admonishment.

Kim stood with her back to her mother, her fists balling up as the tears again came to her eyes.

"Even if you had found her perfectly healthy," her mom continued, "and you two had fought, do you really think for a moment that you would have really been so driven as to act out all that you've been feeling?" Kim could _feel_ her mom's eyes boring into the back of her head. "Would you really have attacked her solely for revenge and to cause pain?"

Kim's entire face was clenched, so hard slurring her words as she said— "when we were at Bueno Nacho headquarters and I still thought Eric was human, and—and I was fighting to rescue him, I—I lost it. I lost all my patience, all my discipline. I went mad! Berserk! And I BEAT HER!" with a sudden hand that slashed about with pointing finger aimed at the supine young woman.

The hand slowly retreated and the voice came back, low and hard sounding. "Then, at the end, after Rufus destroyed Eric and the tower started to blow, I _deliberately_ kicked her into that exploding tower." Kim's head swiveled around and her emerald eyes were ablaze with green fire. "And I smiled afterwards."

"Honey?" came the question with a tone of worried alarm.

Kim suddenly flung herself around into the flight chair kitty cornered across the compartment, her head dropping into her hands. "Don't say it mom! I know, okay. You didn't raise me that way. I've never expressed those feeling before. I'm under too much stress! I'm tweaked to the max!" The teen's head came back up, her hands flailing out in front of her in helpless expression of her raging emotions. "I could of killed her there in that little hole. I didn't! I could have realized what was going on before I got to her and just left her there to die. I didn't!"

"The question was," Kim's mom said, in a firm, cool voice with her eyes locked on her daughters face and her no-nonsense expression cranked up to the max, "if Shego was whole and fit, and you two had fought, what . . . would your ultimate intent would have been?"

Kim's face hardened. "I'm not allowed to get some of mine back mom?" She sniffed and wiped at an eye. "Were you impervious to what I'm feeling when you were my age?"

An edge came into her mothers face. "You know what I was doing when I was your age. And I also think that you know what the point is. If this was just another catfight between you and Shego, I'd say go for it. But there are stakes here that might be the highest you've ever encountered and there's obviously way too much going on and way too many players involved that we _don't know_ about for you to allow personal revenge to cloud your feelings now."

Kim's eyes flooded with tears but she kept rock hard control on her face refusing to let the rest of it succumb.

"You need to find something to divert or burn off your anger," her mom said, firmly, sounding confident and cool. "You're going to encounter lots of situations like this. Find _something_ you can do to deal with the stress."

The flame in Kim's eyes flared anew and the answer snapped out of her mouth before her brain engaged—

Meanwhile, Ron had been returning from the cockpit only to stop short of the compartment door when he heard the raised and obviously heated voices. He had of course respected the mother/daughter privacy, but then he distinctly heard his name sharply mentioned by Kim and Mrs. Dr. Possible mutter several sentences that also might have had his name in it.

Finally, he couldn't take it. He burst into the compartment . . . .

Mother and daughter speared him with looks that he could feel were slicing him into doggy bits. With his best sheepish grin, he held up the greasy bag in his hand and, "hee, hee, anyone interested in some old Naco's to munch on—?"

Kim got up and stomped out into the rear compartment.

Ron remained in his half crouch. A glance at Mrs. Dr. Possible afforded him with a hard look before she turned back to Shego and her medical equipment. Ron lowered the bag and was left with just a tired sigh . . . and cold greasy Naco's.

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_She remembered hatred, consternation, surprise._

Kim had no idea how long she sat in the rear compartment. She couldn't even remember what she had been thinking about. She did remember feeling annoyed when she heard the door crack open. She just wanted to be alone for as long as she had to be anywhere around Shego. She also felt a spike of . . . something . . . when she saw Ron's hesitant face poke through . . . but she had settled enough for her love for him to ride over most of what had cranked her . . .

She managed an almost smile at him, "Ron, please, I'm not mad at you, but I'd rather be—"

Ron's face turned into his 'serious' one which had her immediate attention. And for good reason.

"You need to come back in here. Shego's waking up."

Kim was instantly with at the door but Ron didn't move out of her way. He looked directly into her eyes and she realized that he was searching her, gauging her state and condition. She leveled those eyes at him and said levelly, "I'm okay."

Ron's head gave an infinitesimal shake. "No your not."

Kim had to stop and despite herself, felt herself choke up a little. He knew her so well. "It's no big," she forced herself to say.

Just a hair of a flicker announced Ron's opinion of that, but he backed up out of the hatch, but as he did so, he reached in, his hand going to the small of her back and resting there lightly as if guiding and guarding.

Kim didn't know how to describe Shego's color. Putty came to mind. And her eyes, normally so sharp and piercing were glassy and they wandered.

Kim felt her hatred in the back of her mind. She wanted to crush that face despite the pallor and glassy eyes. She could not think to a single reason to allow this young woman to continue to exist after everything Shego had done to her, Ron, her family and her friends.

"Where are we going?" came the question, less than a ghost of the voice it had once been.

Kim felt her mom glance at her as Shego was looking at the teen. But Kim stood, defiant with arms crossed so her mom leaned in, "at this point, I would say the intensive care ward at Middleton Hospital."

The, "no!" was frighteningly strong for the supine figure (Kim only now was noticing that Shego must have lost twenty-thirty pounds, dehydration and starvation probably). Kim felt her mom's eyes again as well as Ron's presence at her shoulder. She gritted her teeth and grated out, "what do you mean, no?"

"P—put," but then Shego had to stop, as if the effort of that single exclamation had taken all her energy. Mrs. Dr. Possible looked to her monitors and saw signs that this in fact just might have happened and that Shego was now battling to overcome the loss.

"Put me in any kind of facility, and _they'll_ come and get me." At the word 'they'll', something Kim had never seen in Shego's eyes came into being there.

Fear and panic!

Kim frowned. "Who are 'they?"

What sounded like a sob escaped Shego. "Those who stormed the island."

"S.E.A.L.S.?" asked Ron. "Delta Force?" Shego violently shook her head.

Kim's eyes narrowed. "One of the covert Black Ops?"

Shego let go with a louder sob and barely managed, "but they weren't in charge, they weren't calling the shots. And those are the ones who will be coming after me." Her face cleared. "They'll know that you were on the island. They'll be tracking you. They might even be waiting for us when we land."

"Who are you talking about," Ron said in exasperation.

"No one," was the pained reply.

All three of them blinked. "Say what?" Ron tried again.

"Do you even know?" came the now exhausted whisper. "Almost all of the work you two have done is with goody goody Global Justice. Wouldn't hurt a fly GJ would now would it."

"We've worked with other people," Ron said defiantly.

"Ron!" Kim hissed.

"Ever worked with the section that doesn't exist?" Shego asked with a sidelong look.

Kim and Ron looked at each other. That glance told Shego the answer and she gave a weak laugh.

"It's not on any budget list, even the deepest, blackest ones," Shego said with a dead voice. "It doesn't answer to _any_ political committee, authority or person so no one is _responsible_ officially for its actions. Its not in any organization or chain of command. It flat out doesn't exist. And it's the scariest thing anybody like me ever does _not_ want to encounter because it will just make me disappear."

Kim and Ron looked at each other, wonder and doubt in both of their eyes. Kim then looked down to her mom—

And was shocked to see grim understanding in her mothers eyes.

Kim tore her eyes back to Shego and asked, "and you think these people are after you because—?"

Shego let out a single cackle that startled them all. It then changed midstream into a sob and it took several moments for Shego to pull herself together enough to say, "because I _saw_ them! Right there, on the island. I saw your friends, Agent Smith and Agent Smith. I saw your precious Dr. Director. But they were taking orders, not giving them."

Ron's face lit up. "Did you see—"

Kim's arm came across his chest to cut him off. Ron looked at her, his face hurt. But Kim's eyes were locked on Shego. "So, who was in charge?" she asked carefully.

Shego snorted through her tears. "You haven't encountered them before then. Well, lets just say (sniff) that he's an extremely handsome, charismatic man and she's an extremely exotic, dark haired lady, (sniff) almost as exotic as I am on one of my better days (Kim snorted loudly and looked away) . . . and together they're probably two of the deadliest people on the planet."

"Whoa," was all Ron said in reaction. Kim was still looking away, straining with every fiber of her being to control her rising temper and sense of disbelief. Of course, she knew that, right now, deep inside, Shego could tell her that the sea was blue and she wouldn't believe her. Kim started to open her mouth to make a comment—

"Kim, Ron, would you step out please."

Kim's head snapped around to her mother. Her mom was intently looking at several of her instruments. After a moment, her head came up and gave her daughter a look that almost froze Kim's blood. Even so—

"Mom? Why? What are you—?"

"Kim!" was the _sharp_, no-questions-will-be-asked tone that Kim had not heard since the time her mom had caught her trying to tighten her own braces in order to speed the process up (and get the ugly things off SOONER!).

But Kim still wanted to put up a fight—

Then Ron's arm was around her and literally dragging her out of the front compartment door before she had a chance to react even as he chattered, "you know Kim, you really should see the view out the other side, it's quite spectacular."

Kim managed to pull lose from him as the door closed behind the two of them. "Ron!" she cried in angry exasperation even as she moved to go back in only to find her boyfriend slipping in front of her to block the door. "RON!" she cried louder as her anger (and yes, hurt) ratched up a higher notch.

"Since when has your mother _ever_ stuck her nose into your business, mission wise?"

Kim caught herself up short for Ron was looking at her full force with his 'serious' face and using that tone as well. Realizing that she was on the verge of 'losing it' once again, she drew back and reached in, struggling to reign in her galloping emotions.

Kim threw herself around into the face of the companionway bulkhead. A long moment passed as she fought with herself on the inside, tears flowing on the outside.

"Kim?" came Ron's hesitant, caring, loved filled voice from behind her.

"Don't," she snapped at him, hating herself for it but needing, _demanding,_ the moment to try to find herself on her own, to get control of herself . . . on her own, to get a grip on her anger and her hate, _on her own_! She needed to prove to herself—

She wasn't sure just how long the period lasted, but her vision finally 'seemed to clear' and she found herself . . . . well, the tears had stopped, her breathing had steadied and she was no longer shaking and ready to start tearing the walls off of the inside of the craft.

Then she was too embarrassed to look over at Ron whose steady presence she felt inches away.

"I didn't mean to snap at you," Kim said lamely. "I'm really sorry."

"As I said earlier," came back the gentle, understanding voice of her boyfriend, "I _know_ you're not okay. So whatever you need is cool with me."

Kim managed an equally lame smile. "Thanks. I—"

Then the companionway door opened and there stood Kim's mom. Ron's head had snapped around even as Kim's had snapped up. They both caught a sharp breath at the uncompromising look in Mrs. Dr Possible's face.

Kim's mom backed away from the door allowing them entrance. The two teens entered as Kim's mom spoke. "Shego and I have had a little chat. And considering the . . . . unusual readings my instruments are giving me and the equally unusual observations my eyes are seeing as I examine our . . . . guests' injuries, I have concluded that ICU is not necessary. In fact, by the time we reach Colorado, she wont really even need a hospital. So I think it would be best, looking at all the circumstances involved, that we offer Shego the hospitality of the guest room at our house until she's fully recovered."

"WHAT?" Kim screamed as her entire face exploded in more emotions than it could hold.

The mother rounded on the daughter. "Hold your tongue young lady!"

Kim snapped her mouth shut but _glared_ at her mother with a look of downright betrayal. Her mom ignored it with an expression on tempered steel as with a tone to match, "as I said earlier, there's players involved here that we _don't_ know about! Now . . . . knowledge that I might have could be better than twenty five years out of date, but that doesn't mean that the . . . concepts of what was then have changed. I think we just saw with our own eyes is ample proof of it. Add it too what Ron was able to find out through the Internet and with what Shego here told us—" which Kim's mom said with a nod toward the woman in the bed.

Kim, her rage once again alight, snapped a glance at the figure in the flight bunk—

Kim's eyes then came back to look! Shego was, considering her dilapidated state on top of her normal almost 'white' skin tone . . . Kim could not consider it possible for her arch nemesis to be paler that she already was but—

And even freakier, Shego was eyeing her mom with long sideways glances that looked . . . frightened!

"M—m—mom?" Kim managed. Her mother saw the direction of Kim's stare, gave Shego a meaningful glance and said in the same steel hard tone, "Shego and I came to an . . . understanding." Kim's mom smiled grimly. "She has promised not to cause any problems while she is within the walls of our house."

The two teens looked at the adult with shocked amazement. "But how," Ron managed for Kim was too blow away for words.

Mrs. Dr Possible just gave a small shake of her head. "Sorry, Doctor/Patient privilege."

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Now Kim Possible stood out in the woods, hundreds of yards from her family home, her entire body one massive, hot wire of agonized . . .

Her mind almost refused to believe what had just transpired—

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Kim hadn't remembered too much of the remainder of the trip home. She had wrapped herself up tight into a ball of confusion, bewilderment, derailed anger and although she refused to admit to herself, a sense of betrayal.

That, more that anything else had caused her to close up so tight that not even Ron could reach her. Deep, deep inside herself, she knew and could almost, maybe force herself to understand what it was that her mother was doing . . . . and the good person she was, her essential Kimness, the _hero_ in her, could almost a—a—approve of it.

But the wounded teenage girl, the young woman whose life was literally almost destroyed, whose ego and psych was only barely recovering from the most traumatic episode it had ever known and whose need for a release for so much pent up anger and frustration was being stymied by one circumstance after another, the last being _her own mother_!

So, when they reached the Space Center, Kim was almost like a zombie, moving, responding to outside stimulus, but nothing more.

One part of her did find Shego's almost panicked paranoia as they approached touchdown amusing. But more than part of her believed that Shego and her mom were reading far too much into the 'unknown players' thing. Sure, Drakken's island had been violently wasted and that was _not_ the work of Global Justice or even the Black Organizations of the Agents Smith.

But as Ron had wondered, Kim had made herself believe (having no other evidence that she was willing to consider despite Shego's claims) that it had been a military op and they had overreacted with a massive hammer at the first sign of resistance from one of Drakken's henchmen, spiraling out of control from there. Kim thought this mysterious, deadly couple that Shego had conjured up was a melodramatic ploy (although Kim _could not_ understand or believe her mothers serious reaction to it. It was as if she already _knew_ something that she wasn't telling and that was totally . . . soo not possible wasn't it?.).

But they landed in Middleton without a hitch and Kim had the satisfaction of at least seeing her father having as violent a reaction to Shego's presence as she had. He had been waiting, looking exhausted, Kim knowing that he probably hadn't gotten more than a few hours of sleep as he searched for clues to unraveling what had happened to Felix. When he saw Shego, being carried down in the stretcher, her dad demanded to know why no call ahead had been made for the security police even as he reached for his own phone.

His wife stopped him, talking for his ears only but he had exploded in a way that Kim had never seen before (and one that she took grim satisfaction in). Once again, she had to take in the sight of her mother leading her father away as they violently argued but this time she hoped that her dad got the upper hand.

It took ten minutes to find out that her hopes were disappointed.

Her parents came back around the side of the hanger (and Kim was forced to feel pain for her parents) and for the first time in her life, Kim could _see_ a wall between them. Her rage at Shego leapt by leaps and bounds and it was all Kim could do not to turn around at that moment with her laser lipstick and give Shego a new beauty mark . . . right between the eyes!

But her mom clearly had control and that meant—

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Kim admitted to herself, in making up the guest bedroom, she did the job less that half done. After all, the last time she had to do this little chore, she had been 'bonded' to Bonnie. At that time she had refused to share her own loft with her rival hence they had spent the night in here. Now she was doing it for her archenemy so it was only logical (to her anyway) that it should be an even less then am 'adequate' job. Ron was there trying to help, but Kim was in such a grumpy, tweaked mood that he finally flattened himself against a wall to avoid being hit by swung pillows and snapped sheets.

After that, she cleared out and she cared less what happened—

She buried herself in her bed, torn between wanting to rip her room to shreds and wanting to sob herself to sleep. After a while (she had no clue how long), she became aware that Ron was sitting beside her on the edge of her bed, rubbing her back (hand staying carefully on the part only exposed by her mission shirt).

"Are you mad at me?" she asked, the question almost coming out as a whimper.

"No," came the low toned reply. "I'm worried about you . . . . and scared for you."

Kim heard the tone, and heard so much more behind it. It was almost in disbelief that she flipped over to face Ron, her eyes going wide as all her senses confirmed what her ears/heart and heard/felt.

Ron was looking at her with naked fear and worry on his face but that was only on the surface. Under it was love and fear and apprehension and the desire to provide any kind of relief/shelter/escape that he could and Kim realized that at this moment, to Ron Stoppable, all promises to any Respected Elder be _damned_ because his love needed something, _ANYTHING_! to take her away, to get her away from the moment, from her anger and her rage and her grief—

And if that was all he could offer—

They came together in a sudden explosion of passion and were in moments back down on her bed heedless of anything and their hands started—

Then they heard Kim's mom calling.

With a sob, Kim ripped herself free of Ron, rolling across her bed to fall to her hands/knees on the floor. She had no idea where he went as she struggled to pull herself together—

"Kim!" her mom called again.

"WHAT?" she screamed back in agony.

There was a pause, then a FIRM voice called, "answer the front door!"

Kim, with eyes that were blind, heaved herself to her feet and felt her way around to her stairs, stumbling down them without looking back.

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Mrs. Dr Possible _did not_ want to know what it had been that she had interrupted that had made her daughter so testy. But she had been in the middle of drawing blood which she had intended to have Ron run to her hospital lab when she had heard the knocking at the front door. It had been loud and insistent and therefore she thought, probably wise to investigate.

She was glad that Shego had gone out after hitting the bed because she would be afraid that the pale woman would have jerked in paranoia at the sound of the front door, (not a bright thing to do when one has a needle in ones arm). The good doctor understood that paranoia if Shego was in fact telling the truth, but she hoped that they had some time to get the traumatized woman in better shape before she was subjected to the stress—

Her breath caught in her throat—in fact everything seemed to stop as the black suited Government man stepped into the guest bedroom.

"How—" Kim's mom managed in a sharp whisper as she pulled the vial out and started to pull the needle and seal the puncture. As she did so, three more Government men and two similarly dressed women slipped in behind him, fanning out across the end wall.

Mrs. Dr Possible whipped up and round onto them, hissing, "where's your warrant?"

The lead man said quietly, "we don't have one. We were let in."

Kim's mom blinked. "Who—" she started with a snarl, not even thinking—

"I did mother," Kim said firmly as she swept into the room, eyes blazing, arms firmly wrapped around her middle. She immediately backed away to push herself firmly against the wall next to the door where her gaze went to the quiet figure in the bed even as she said, "the gentlemen you're speaking to mother is Agent Smith. He's missing his usual partner, the other Agent Smith; I guess he's on another important mission. Anyway, we've," and a flapping of Kim's hand indicated her and the Government agent, "worked together several times. He asked in and I let him."

Mrs. Dr Possible started to turn on her daughter but Agent Smith made a single motion with his lowered hand and the other agents came away from the wall as if to advance on the bed. Kim's mom swerved back—

"Stop!" and there was such an unmistakable tone of command there that they in fact did. After a moment, they looked to Agent Smith in confusion. Smith just looked at her levelly. "Don't involve yourself needlessly Doctor. What is happening here will never have happened so making a complaint or filing a report will do you no good."

Just a hint of a smile came to the corner the lips of Kim's mom. "Prism wouldn't like it."

Kim's head shot around to look at the two of them and saw just the tiniest, involuntary twitch in Smiths eyes. Kim's eyes got huge. How did her mom know—?

Smith had recovered instantly but the hit had been scored. His voice was now hard, impatient. "There is no time for these kinds of maneuvers Doctor. We have to secure the prisoner in order—"

"In order to question her," came the sudden tight, frightened voice from the bed. All eyes came around to see Shego, awake, slowly pulling herself up into a tight, defensive ball against the headboard. She was sweating, she want panting. One could see the literal physical motion of her body as she was trying, straining, _crying_ to get her hands to ignite. The look of a caged animal about to be tossed live into a roaring fire would be an understatement for the expression on her face.

"But I won't talk to you will I," she said with a shake of her head as a small glow started at her fingertips. There was a shuffle and Kim glanced over as guns came out of holsters and came up—

"Don't—" Kim's mom started only to be bodily pushed out of the way by Agent Smith—

Bodily pushed into Kim who had to catch her mom to keep her from falling and cracking her head into the wall.

"I won't talk to you," Shego went on, "because if I do, the moment that you have what I want . . . . you'll kill me."

"Do you know what's at stake?" Smith said in a hard tone.

"I DON"T know!" Shego snarled back at him, then half collapsed from the effort, the glow dieing. But her head immediately came up and the look in her eyes as she added, "but I've guessed. And if it's what I think it is, no, you don't have much time." She stopped and choked down a swallow before, "but—but you know that I'm . . . . special. I can hold out for a long time. Too long maybe. Maybe before you break me—"

"Enough," Smith snapped with a curt wave of his hand. One of the others holstered his automatic and reached under his coat again—

He pulled out a TASER gun.

"I won't talk to you," Shego shrieked as the TASER came up.

"We'll have to see, wont we," Smith snapped back.

"I WON'T talk to you," Shego said louder as she seemed to gather herself further into a ball. "You need me to talk and you need me to talk right now. Because you need to find Drakken." Kim's eyes which had been watching, but not really _watching_ now snapped up onto her enemy. "Drakken," Shego continued in a voice like tearing agony, "has something that you want. Something that is very, very dangerous. I don't know what it is. God! Knowing him, I don't know if _he_ knows what it is. But he's got it . . . . and he's doing something with it."

"That's why—" Smith started—

"But I want to LIVE you ass!" Shego shrieked as Kim rocked back and she felt her mom jerk beside her. "Can you," Shego went on with a raw glare of hatred at the Government man, "even open your mouth and say that _they_ will let me live once they get their hands on me."

Smith stuttered for a moment, ". . . . w—w—why of course—"

"Liar!" Shego yelled back at him. "So no deal. I keep my mouth shut until someone I can trust guarantees me amnesty. Until then, search the world for Drakken. You won't have a clue where to look for him. That's cause he's crazy."

"Well," said one of the other agents, "that's not any different than—"

"No you stupid jerk! He's not mad as in 'Mad Scientist'! He's crazy, lost it, gone off the deep end and I think that whatever it is that he's gotten he's—" and her voice suddenly cut off. She turned as gray as a battleship and half slumped down onto the bed—

But amazingly, none of the agents moved.

But Kim's mother spoke, "what is he going to do Shego?"

Shego didn't move. When she replied, she just did so in the direction her head was facing, as if talking into a void. "He's not trying to take over the world, he's trying to destroy it."

Kim felt a brick hit her in the lungs. Other than that, her whole body had been going numb as the whole 'unrealness' of this situation slowly overcame her. But then, when Shego, obviously in agony, forced her head around, her eyes searching, searching, _locking_ onto Kim's—

"And I believe, I really believe he's going to do it."

Kim closed her eyes, trying desperately to break the hold—

But she still felt it, felt _them_. She felt Shego's eyes, burning right through the closed lids of hers.

Kim knew what it was. It was what her mom had been harping on all afternoon. It was what so much of her life had been controlled by and dedicated too. Duty, responsibility, a situation of dire need where only _she_ could have the power or the ability to—

_No No! NO! I don't BELIEVE this_ she screamed to herself. _Not Shego? It's not fair. IT'S NOT FAIR!_

"Kim?" she heard her mom's soft voice next to her, feeling a gentle hand on her elbow that somehow conveyed understanding and approval.

But Kim wanted neither! She wanted to spring at Shego and strangle her with both hands! Grab one of the agent's automatics and empty the magazine . . . . slowly!

But she was Kim Possible. And if what she was hearing was true, even a fraction of it, there was only one possible answer—

She couldn't even open her eyes and her voice was harsh and ragged when she grated out, "Agent Smith, in accordance with the confidential/protected informant sections of the Memorandum of Understanding that Global Justice and all associated agencies are signers of, I am taking custody of Shego and am declaring her due to extreme exigent circumstances, a material witness in a Category Red incident, effectively shielding her from all other forms of prosecution, investigation and custody."

Kim could hear shuffling feet. To her trained ears, it sounded like the agents where shifting, to restrain her if need be prior to taking Shego.

"If I have to," Kim said in a dead voice, "I'll invoke article fifteen." She heard some sharply drawn breaths.

"Ms Possible," came Agent Smiths lowered, guarded voice. "I—I have to inform you, that these orders of mine are coming from the very _highest_ sources."

"All of whom are signatories to the MOU," injected the cold, hard voice of Kim's mom.

Although Kim could not see, Smith paled and licked his lips, looking almost frightened of returning without his catch. He leaned forward and in a stressed whisper, "actually, my orders come from a source . . . . higher than the highest. And they are _not_ signatories of the MOU."

Kim's eyes at last glanced over. "Article fifteen Agent Smith. And right now, as pissed off as I am, if I have to resort to force to hold Shego," and her eyes _blazed_ at having to mention that name, "I am going to _hurt_ your people."

"I am telling you to leave my home Agent Smith." Mrs. Dr Possible said in a frozen voice. "Your welcome is being revoked."

A single, steel-tense moment crawled by—

Agent Smith turned without a word and led his personnel silently from the bedroom. Kim's mom turned and followed them to make sure they were out. Kim stood as if made of stone, wishing the world would end right then and now.

Moments later, Kim's mom returned. She then stormed back in, anger radiating off her like heat off of a stove, not even giving her daughter a glance as she hurried to see her barely conscious patient.

"Thank you," came the weak, barely audible voice from the bed.

"Go to _hell_!" Kim snarled as she spun about and fled.

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So Kim stood out in the woods, far from her home, which at this moment, was no longer her home. As she had run from it, she had seen, that the woods surrounding the Possible residence had been full of agents and armed personnel.

Kim desperately wished one of them had taken a shot at her. The problem was, that she wasn't sure if she had wanted them to miss, so she could tear into them and tear them apart, seeking a point to expend her anger and frustration . . . or if she wanted them to hit her, and end her pain!

For at this moment, she was totally lost. More so than she had been before during her last crisis because she didn't honestly believe that she had _ever_ been this angry at so many. Shego, the government, her mom, Drakken, even Ron! Her little voice inside again was screaming for help for it was wondering if her very sanity was at stake!

Then she was pushed _very_ hard between the shoulder blades. Kim was sent sprawling forward, down onto her knees, only her cat-like reflexes keeping her from burying her face into the pine needled covered forest floor. As it was, her knees, chest and palms where scraped and it took a whole two seconds for her brain to react.

"What the—" she started to curse as she heaved herself up and around to find herself standing face to face with—

Ron!

Who abruptly pushed her just as hard again, right in the chest, right off her feet, flat onto her back with a painful crack to the rear of her head, both her elbows scraping and her right butt cheek getting poked by a half buried rock.

Kim goggled in stunned surprise up at her boyfriend who only backed up several steps and stood silently in a ready stance. Ron's eyes and nose were red as if he's been crying. But his face was in its set, 'in the clutch' look. Just what was—

Kim shook her head to try and clear it as she fought up onto her feet. "Ron Stoppable! What do you think your doing?" On her feet, she started to advance on him, one hand going to the back of her head. "I am not in the mood—" she started to say. She never got any further as Ron stepped in, going past her, grabbing the front of her shoulders and twisting her, pulling her as he leg-swept her and then released, dumping her bodily down onto her side in front of him with an "OOFFFFF!"

Kim's shoulder tweaked as it impacted and her neck and head twisted as it followed through, the side of her temple striking the ground—

Kim's temper exploded! Between her mental status and confusion and the sudden onslaught of physical pain added to the perceived betrayal of her mother in regards to Shego, why wouldn't Ron attack her for no reason whatsoever! It didn't matter. All that mattered was that something, ANYTHING was needed for her too take her aggressions out on—

And she had just found it!

Kim twisted herself violently about, attempting to sweep Ron's legs out from under him. But he leapt back out of the way, abet in a stiff, clumsy way, still feeling at least some of the effects from his recent injuries.

Kim rolled up to her feet, shaking the needles from the side of her face and charged, going in low and fast, hitting Ron directly in his mid-section, feeling him fold around her, feeling the "UUMMPPHHH!" of knocked out wind on her butt as his face impacted her tailbone—

She allowed the moment to carry them forward, feeling the impact as Ron's butt hit the ground and he started to go over on his back. She started to tuck her legs under to come to rest on top of him as she slid her hands up into his armpits to keep herself in place—

Then a mental grit of her teeth as she felt him grab her by her upper arms even as she realized that his knees were suddenly between the two of them which meant—

Ron catapulted Kim up and over him (even though she heard what sounded like a grunt of pain when he did it). Kim was surprised (and groggy and disoriented AND confused) enough not to be able to pull one of her normal cat-like spins and landings on her feet. She ended up landing on her _other_ side, bashing her ribs and hip but at least protecting her head. She snarled and started to scramble up—

Only to be pulled headlong back, the ends of her hair caught in a bristle bush that she had almost landed in, tweaking her neck _again_ (not to mention the roots of the involved strands of hair). Kim's snarl repeated itself _louder_ as she ripped the strands free (thinking all about what it would take to repair her hair later), then she turned on Ron, who was standing half hunched over, sucking in huge breaths, with murder in her eyes. "You are ssooooo dead," she said and this time, she meant it.

"Shut up and fight me!" was Ron's brash reply.

Kim growled deep in her throat and started forward, vowing no more mistakes, no more underestimating—

Then she stopped, staring at Ron, her eyes suddenly going big and round!

Ron saw it. His face paled (more than it already was from the pain). He feinted at her, shouting, "Kim, fight me!"

Just as suddenly as she had stopped, all the aggression, all the tenseness went out of Kim Possible as she gazed at Ron Stoppable. She seemed to fold in on herself, her mouth falling open as she looked on him in disbelief.

"FIGHT ME!" Ron shouted at her.

"You jerk!" Kim breathed at her boyfriend. "I could have _hurt_ you."

And like a puppet with its strings cut, Ron Stoppable collapsed onto the forest floor.

And moments later, Kim Possible was there with her arms around him as both broke into tears—

It lasted a long moment, with mutual touches and caresses and kisses and finally ending with the wiping of tears before, "If—if you still need to . . . . you know—" Ron asked hesitantly as he held Kim's face in both hands inches from his.

She gave him a trembling smile as she blinked back a new flood of tears. "What almost happened in my room back there," she said in a soft, shaky voice, "while it would have been nice, and it would have helped, would have also caused more problems than it would have solved." Kim's head came in and she kissed him lightly, before saying into his lips, "the same thing applies now. You would be as guilty as sin tomorrow and so would I for making you violate your honor. I want you, I need you Ron Stoppable. And the only saving grace is that I know you feel the same way about me. But the fact that you are honorable enough not to break your promise tells me, as I am making a promise to you that I will never again ask you to break that promise, that once we make our promises to each other at the altar—" and Kim left it at that.

Ron now drew her in for a deeper, longer kiss. When it was broken, Ron felt hesitation in Kim. "What is it? he asked gently. She gave a snort. "Just a thought. Doesn't mean a girl can't try does it?" Ron cocked his head. "What's that?" Kim looked at him with appealing eyes. "We're for all practicable purposes engaged," and she wiggled the friendship ring on her finger. Ron glanced at its mate on his and he nodded. "If," Kim asked with wistful tone, "we went together to . . . . whomever it was that you made your promise to?"

Ron sighed heavily and closed his eyes. Kim felt her face fall. "Why Ron? Why?"

"Age," was all he said.

"Oh," Kim took this in. "What about after we turn eighteen?" she asked hopefully.

Ron gave the smallest shake of his head. "One reason why I wont tell you who it is, is that if you found out what age we're talking about, I think . . . . well, lets just leave it as its best that you don't know."

"Ron!" Kim said dangerously.

"Kim," he replied, now reaching out to take her face in his hands, "not now. You have too many other things going on to stress over that."

"Alright," she conceded, dropping it. She leaned her face into his hands, dropping her eyes, relishing the feel of it. Then she released his face and grabbed his wrist _hard_. "But somehow, since I can't do it _that_ way, I'm going to find another way to repay you for every single cut, bump, bruise, and scrape you caused me in the last half hour."

She raised her eyes again and her love for him blazed out of them. "You had to be _out_ of your mind! Especially considering how quickly you stiffen up after certain moves."

Ron's face took on a grim look. "I was still too upset to come in, but I was out in the hall and I heard the whole thing with Agent Smith Kim. That, with knowing just how bad you're hurting," he turned his head away. "You know I'd do anything for you. You needed a target to expend all that . . . anger on." Ron's eyes then suddenly came back and locked onto hers. "And you still need something. Cause you're going to have to be dealing directly with Shego, getting her to talk, getting her to tell us about Drakken and—"

Kim snap squeezed Ron's wrists to break his sentence. A beat passed between them as their eyes stayed locked. "Stay with me Ron," she said with dead seriousness. "Stay locked to my hip. Keep one hand in mine at all times and squeeze it hard when I start to get too sharp. Do that for me, be there for me, just like you always have, just like I always know you will be, and I'll be alright."

Their eyes stayed locked for another beat. Then their arms were around each other's necks, pulling each other close, and they were saying into each other's ears, the same words, as if spoken from the same mind, the same mouth—

"I'll always be there for you cause you've always been there for me. You're the best thing that ever happened to me! My friend, my love! I love you with all my heart and there will never be another. For now and forever!"

And there was no jinx. How could there be with something so important, so heartfelt being said.

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A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out, but I had a real hard time getting back in the saddle after vacation. Also, I had a real struggle getting the tone of this chapter the way I wanted it. I want to thank CaptainKodak1 for listening to my gripes about it and providing feedback. Check out his Tunnel Vision if you haven't, it's a great story with a lot more to come.


	21. Interludes

Two teens trudged up the final hill, looking as beat and beaten as if they had just come home from the wars. Lowered heads, drooped shoulders, slouching backs and shuffling walks screamed their mental fatigue after having to, after so long and soooo much happening, face their teachers, their peers and all the other questions and comments hiding at the backs of the eyes all the other students in all those classes and hallways.

Sure, excitement and congratulations over the cheerleading competition had still been the main theme along with the welcome relief over the apparent return of both the 'real' Kim and the reunion of the Possible/Stoppable team. At the same time, there had been a . . . nagging under thread of discomfort.

A background of . . . vague rumors from someone who had talked to someone who had overheard one of the other girls from one of the other teams whispering about how she had heard from one of the girls from one of the other towns about something about Kim badly beating up some guy—

Speculation and talk about . . . . well—speculation and talk. Why was Monique still in Juvenile Hall? Why hadn't Kim used her influence to get her out or at least gone in and solved the mystery behind her charges? Or was Monique guilty and was Kim and Ron involved? Was that the reason why all the Black Suited Men and Women had been seen skulking around town?

And Carla and 'her' new posse? The rumors flying around that and its links to everything from the Mafia to overseas terrorists? The fact that Carla spat in and then laughed in everyone's eye who even looked at her sideways only inspired those to new heights.

Then there was the teens own troubles—

Kim had found it almost impossible to sleep the previous evening with Shego in her house. But she didn't know if it was just from her arch enemies presence, or from the fact that none of the Possible's currently living there; her, her mother or her father (the dweebs were still with their uncle), was currently speaking to each or either of the other two.

Needless to say, her father's arrival home from the Space Center the night before could only have been described as 'artic' and he had been up and gone long before Kim had risen to get ready for school. But she had seen the signs that he had in fact spent the night on the couch in his den and the realization hit her like a hammer blow to her stomach.

And her own anger and sense of betrayalment at her mom? At the moment it warring with a sense of fear for her family. She had just barely gotten Ron back and her own self-stabilized only to have this happen?

But she was thanking God for Ron being there for her, for he was being her pillar. Just like old times he had been at her doorstep and had taken her right in hand. They had talked all the way to school about what had happened and how she had felt the night before. They had sat and talked all through lunch about what they thought she should do and how she should react and respond—

Kim had wanted to go stay at Ron's house (or maybe even the tree house) for the period that Shego was forced to stay at the Possible residence. Ron had gently but firmly nixed this idea with a verity of arguments and facts, not the least of which was the fact that if Kim was there whenever Shego was ready to talk, the quicker they could act on whatever information the received and the quicker they could get the job over with (and Shego out).

Even now, as they had been walking home, Ron had been helping her deal with her anger, telling her things that his Sensei had taught him (although Kim was at a complete loss to figure out how Ron had gotten this much training in the single week he had been at that school in Japan). A lot of what he was saying was making sense; the problem was that there was still too much of her that didn't want to listen to it.

At the same time, she was cut, bruised, scraped and more than stiff and limping slightly from Ron's attempt to purge her anger and Kim could tell that Ron was in a major world of guilt over this as he had fully expected to have his butt kicked in kind as payment and it hadn't happened. She was promising herself that she was going to make time over and above everything else they has to do to let him know just how grateful she was to and for him and how sorry she was that it had come to that and how she was determined to get beyond and sooo over it as soon as she could.

But finally their mutual fatigue from too rough and an emotional weekend on top of everything else had overcome them and the final hill was a tired trudge. The only part of their bodies that didn't look or feel limp was the pair of hands that was tightly clenched between them. They knew that their day wasn't over either (Barkin had made sure that they were loaded then down with about a zillion years worth of late assignments to catch up on).

So, it was once again with sort of a dumbfounded look that Kim stared into her driveway as they came up into it—

Another car that they didn't recognize.

Or it should be said, a family type van. The two teens looked at each other and Ron shrugged. "Well, at least I don't think any government types are going to be driving that", he commented in a low voice.

With more wariness than she was willing to admit however that Kim opened her front door and stepped through with Ron an even warier half step behind her. Glancing into the front room—

Kim thought her heart stopped!

_Oh God! Now what!_ she said to herself as her entire system jolted at the sight of the heavyset black woman sitting on the couch looking toward her with sadness, naked worry and apprehension. Kim had never seen her in person but she instantly knew who it was—

"Mrs. Load?" Ron blurted out in surprise next to her and Kim could feel his hand scrambling to find hers (with hers trying to find his just as hard and they just kept _missing_).

Kim's mom stood directly next to the other woman, crossed arms and a face set with hard-edged fury screaming the fact that she would brook no questioning or disrespect of her authority or standing in her house or the world at large.

Kim was instantly across the space between them, down on her knees in front of Mrs. Load, taking the woman's hands in hers, her whole mood and self suddenly changed to the Kim of old—

The 'Say The Word' Kim was back.

Mrs. Load just looked down into Kim's eyes, then her own eyes, which were already red and wet . . . closed . . . . and the tears came again.

Kim looked up at her mom.

Mrs. Dr. Possible was staring hard at a spot on the wall over Ron's head when she said in a soft voice with red-hot steel behind it—

"Knowing what we know now about Shego's . . . works against you, it occurred to me last night while I was lying awake . . . alone in bed," and the flash of anger and pain in that phrase made the two of them wince, "that what happened to Wade was probably a part of it."

Surprise, wonder, and sudden understanding washed across the two teens faces. Kim looked back to the woman in front of her, her heart in her mouth as Ron blurted, "did you ask Shego?" only to cower a little as those raging eyes came to fix on him.

"She is out cold and will probably be so for twenty four to thirty six hours. What happened yesterday—" and there was another angry flash in the Doctors eyes, but this was directed at her daughter who fought down her own defensive ire and managed to put a humble and contrite look on her face, "about did her in despite everything I have done and could do for her. So right now she's . . . . shut down and is . . . for lack of a better word, recharging her batteries." Mrs. Dr Possible stopped for a moment and seemed to center herself. Her voice was more level when she started again, but her features—

"Anyway, I called Wade's mom here (indicating Mrs. Load) on the phone to breach that possibility to her, that maybe Wade had been innocent all along. The next thing I know, she's here on our doorstep and she's telling me—"

The two teens looked back to Mrs. Load, who sat, slowly rocking back and forth with her eyes closed—

"Mrs. Load?" Kim asked softly.

"They took him," was the almost whispered reply.

Horror exploded on Kim's face. "They—?"

"The government took my boy," came the small half sob. "A couple of weeks ago. And I haven't heard from him since and they wont tell me where he's at."

Ron looked down aghast as Kim slowly came up off her knees and gently took the older woman into the tightest embrace that she could manage.

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"WHAT?" was all Monique could manage. Their friend then sat back and her face went . . . sort of . . . . blank.

Ron's insides were as tight as Senor Senior Jr's pants as he had gotten his first look at their friend since her incarceration in this place. He and Kim had come together on his scooter, leaving Mrs. Load in the care of Kim's mom (and Kim feeling a very real need to get away from her mothers ever increasing level of agitation) and he had been . . . shocked at the change in Monique.

Ron knew that the pallor and the listlessness had to be from the frustration and hopelessness of her situation. But the shocking weight loss and the glassy hollowness of her eyes (which he realized had rocked Kim back on her very heels as well) could have only come from what had happened to Felix and the fact that it had happened so drastically in the short period of time meant that the supervisor who had greeted them hadn't been joking when she'd mentioned that Monique had truly 'stopped living'.

Kim's throat was so tight that she almost couldn't breathe. She couldn't believe that Monique had given up like this but then again, she could only look back on herself and see how recently she had given up when she too had been stripped of almost everything that had meant anything to her.

At least she had had that undying thread tying her to Ron that had refused to break inside her and only now was she truly beginning to understand just how much that was responsible for her recovery.

But Monique had all but lost Felix—. _No! Not lost,_ came the grim thought,_ had him taken from her. And it was probably the one of the only things anchoring her against this place._

"Was it Children's Services?" Monique quietly asked looking so perplexed.

Kim couldn't keep the grim look off of her face as she shook her head. "That's part of the problem. We don't know who it was. Mrs. Load was told in no uncertain terms not to speak to anybody else about the fact that Wade had been taken. They inferred that it had something to do with some kind of massive security breech and that was all they would say."

Monique looked even more lost and her eyes spoke the unasked question which Kim then answered. "She—she told us because she figured that we were safe to tell. And after my mom's call . . . Wade's parents have been a wreck. Mrs. Load needed to talk to _someone._" Kim's eyes dropped and she sadly shook her head. "I think that's one reason my mom's so cranked. That whatever is going on is so big and so nasty that whoever is running things has completely clamped down on it and as a result, people like Wade's parents are getting hurt."

Kim wiped a frustrated hand across her forehead. "It's like all this stuff about the People in Black. I just can't buy any of that. You would think with all the contact that Ron and I have had that we would have heard something them before—"

"But their real!"

Kim and Ron both blinked. Monique had suddenly come forward, light springing into her eyes, passion into her voice, her expression torn with all her internal agonies but shreds of the Monique of old flashing through.

"How do you—" Ron started.

"Because I saw at least three of them," Monique insisted.

Kim forced herself to sit back. She trusted Monique in certain ways more than she trusted Ron, at least as far as her observation and analytical skills. So—

"Alright," Kim forced herself reluctantly to say, "if _you_ say you saw them, I trust your judgment more than I do some of the others who have been carrying on about it." Kim then had to take a moment for some heavy consideration before adding, looking up at Ron as she did so, "but that does not mean that I'm willing to buy Shego's line about that scary super couple. I mean who could believe a man and woman like that running things like a couple of—"

"He's incredibly handsome—"

Kim's head snapped back down and around, her jaw hanging wide—

Monique's eyes were focused inward as she replayed the memory. "I mean, even handsome really isn't a good word for it because," and she had to struggle for the words for a moment, "there's other things about him as well. Even from across the way, even through the window of my store, you could sense the charisma, the intensity. His eyes—" Monique's own eyes then came back and Kim shuddered as they _grabbed_ onto Kim's, "when they locked on me for just that brief moment, even from that distance, from across the width of the mall, it was like he was telling me what was going to happen and what I had to do—" And the strangest look came over Monique as if realization of something that had long been bothering her and had been so elusive had suddenly come to her and things had become so much clearer. "And _she_ KNEW it was going to happen when she spoke to me days earlier."

"Wha—" was all Kim could manage, her brain jamming _hard_ into confused—

"While he's . . . " and Monique had to lick her dry lips in thought for just a moment, "dangerous; she's deadly." Monique seemed to pale further as more realizations hit her and she was shaking her head just the tiniest bit, her body trembling. "Beautiful and deadly. A Black Widow." And then Monique sort of froze, her mouth moving, but nothing coming out.

Kim took her gently by the arms, trying to coax her out, "Mon?"

"She knew Kim, she _knew_!" and Monique looked both scared and angry.

Kim gave Monique a little shake as her own felling of alarm started to grow and a small 'epp' sputtered from Kim's lips as Monique came back by clamping a fierce grip of her forearms and a fiercer look on her face—

"Your super scary couple Kim, it had to be them. I didn't realize they were a couple of course because I didn't see them together but their soooo perfect that they _have_ to be the one that Shego is talking about. He obviously knew what was about to happen to me because he was outside of Club Banana monitoring me when the investigators came to arrest me. But that was Monday night! She—!"

And the anger flared in Monique's face, "she and the third one, the one who led Sherry Winer and her mother out of Barkin's office, that was at school the prior Wednesday. She knew it was going to happen then Kim. She **_KNEW_** because she told me as much! Her own words were, 'when your time comes, just go along with the flow. Don't fight, don't run. Things will all work out in the end.' It was so scary the way she said it. So cool but firm! She k—" and Monique's face clouded up with tears, "and they let it happen. They knew it was going to happen and I've been in this place how long and I can't see Felix and they knew—"

And the sobs started.

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"Ron," Kim asked in a weary voice as she stared listlessly at her Bueno Nacho meal growing cold and congealed before her, "what do you think? I mean I know I'm just probably being stubborn but—" her voice just sort of trailed off.

She then blinked as a hand came across the table into her vision. A shaky smile came to her face as she pulled one of hers out of her lap and gave it to Ron who took it firmly. Only then did she raise her eyes to find his watching her.

"The fact," Ron said in an offhand way, even as he continued to munch on his Naco, "that we don't know about these dude's shouldn't affect us. There's got to be a bunch of stuff we don't know about as we 'don't need to know' and frankly up to now, I really don't want to know because it sounds like we're talking about—"

"I know," Kim ejected with complete disbelief. "and while Shego doesn't surprise me knowing about that stuff, mom does! How does she know Prism? We were told in no uncertain terms to forget that incident ever happened and yet she rattles off his name like she talks on the phone with him daily."

"Kim," Ron said even more gently, "look at what your mother had been trying to get you to see for the last several days—"

"But look back at _her_ Ron!" she shot back. "As far as we knew everything involving this kind of stuff was decades in her past but she's acting like she knows something and its got her as angry and . . . I'm not sure but she's almost acting scared Ron. What does she know Ron and how does she know it?"

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you need to talk to her about it."

Kim felt her face harden and she yanked her hand away from his. Disapproval and disappointment flashed across Ron's face.

"You need to lose the anger at you mom," he said sternly. "What good is it doing? She didn't find Shego, you did. What would you want your mom to do?"

"Wrap her up in rusted red hot chains and send her to some prison in Abu Dhabi," Kim grated.

"Okay," Ron nodded in acknowledgement, "now lets be realistic—"

"She didn't have to bring her home." Kim whined.

Ron rolled his eyes. "We went though this this morning. Yesterdays little visit shows that her judgment was probably correct. If Shego will only talk to you—"

"But **_I_** don't want—"

Now Ron closed his eyes, "again we—"

Kim half turned in her bench. "I know, I know, we went through this this morning. But it doesn't change the way I feel."

"_If_," and Ron put an extra heavy emphasis on the word, "when Shego starts talking, you haven't changed the way you feel, it probably will effect the way you take in, process and handle the information and the interview and if Shego is correct, if Drakken has lost it and is planning on destruction rather than conquest, can you take a chance with it?"

Kim shot Ron a look of hurt betrayal. "You too huh? Another one who believes that I can't get some of my own back."

Ron shook his head firmly. "Come on Kim, Shego is like a bad penny, she's never going to go away. You may have to deal nice with her now, but give her two weeks and you'll be free and clear to kick her butt into the nearest Diablo control tower."

Kim, after a long moment, forced herself to look back over at Ron. She could see that he believed what he was saying. She then looked back out the window.

Delay her vengeance? Put it on hold? Once again put the good of the world and everybody else ahead of her own needs. Put a quash on her anger at Shego—

And her mom?

She had been saying to herself all day that she was going to calm down, try to control her anger, if for no other reason than Ron had been trying to patch things up between the two of them. And now to find out that to a certain extent, he agreed with her mom's take on the situation?

Did that make her . . . . wrong?

Or maybe . . . . stubborn and . . . stupid.

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A very tired, very depressed, very worried woman sat in the deep chair of the huge master bedroom retreat staring out at another gorgeous Colorado sunset without seeing it. She knew she should eat, she knew that she should get some sleep, she knew that she should be writing up some of the massive notes and documents she would need on the . . . . unusual case that she had in her guest bedroom but—

Her husband, her daughter, the very world? Which one worried her the most?

"Mom?"

The woman sat for a moment before the soft, gentle word registered to her. But then she took a moment to steel herself, not knowing why her daughter would dare to enter the parental sanctuary in such a way.

When her mom initially did not move to her speaking her name, Kim wondered if she had fallen asleep. But then she saw her mom slowly rise up in the chair and half turn around, looking back at her with a face that was _very_ neutral and Kim got her first real indication of just how much damage she might have caused here with her stubborn anger.

Her mom just looked at her, so Kim took the initiative, "I'd like to talk mom," in as polite and humble a voice as she could manage. And Kim felt a flood of relief when just a hint of a smile came to her mothers face along with a heartfelt, "so would I honey."

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The sunset had long since gone away and just a few lights from homes in the far hills were visible through the picture windows of the retreat. The two of them were sitting in the pair of chairs as they had been now for the better part of several hours (Mrs. Possible had sat the whole time. Kim had been driven to jump up and paced several times when the conversation got heated or uncomfortable).

So now, the possible world situation, responsibilities, anger, her father/her husband and Shego were for the most part out in the open, dealt with and out of the way with agreement or at least understanding—

But there was the final little thing that was bothering Kim—

"Mom," she asked in the most hesitant voice of the evening, "I don't know if you can say anything but . . . . are you still . . . . active?"

Her mom's eyes narrowed at the implication of the question for it was obvious what her daughter was driving at. Consideration then came into those eyes and Kim waited, almost holding her breath.

Then a sad smile came to the older woman's face.

"The literal answer to that question is . . . no. I'm not 'active' and have not been since the days you know about."

"But," Kim shook her head in disbelief. "How do you know so much? How do you know Prism?"

A severe frown came across her mothers face and in a low voice she growled," lets go back into the main bedroom."

Kim felt a shiver at her mother's obvious tone of disapproval but followed obediently.

When her mom closed the French doors to the retreat behind them, she turned to Kim and with an admonishing tone, "you should know better than to say something like that in front of bare glass walls."

The realization hit Kim like a slap in the face and it was all she could do to nod her head in contrite acknowledgement of her error.

Her mom then strode over to the reading chair, plopping down into it, saying as she did so, "as much as I can tell you is as I said. I am not active and haven't been for better than twenty-five years. But," and she made it a big 'but', "as you know, people with top rate security clearances, and mine was several steps higher than yours, are never truly out of the service. There are several reasons for that. The biggest one is that we're technically still under the thumb if we violate the secrets acts."

Kim nodded as she absorbed this and after a moments thought, "was your higher clearance the reason why you knew about . . . the People in Black?"

Her mom just gave a grim smile giving Kim her answer.

"Their assassins?" she asked, dropping the other shoe.

Her mom's face went totally grim. "Sometimes there is a need for agents who will do 'whatever it takes' and that truly means 'whatever' in any sense of the imagination to accomplish a task."

After a longer moment, Kim nodded in acceptance. "That's why they don't answer to anyone or exist anywhere and why Shego is so afraid of them. They really _can_ make you disappear."

Just the barest nod of her mother's head acknowledged Kim's statement.

"They knew what was going to happen to Monique but they let it happen anyway," Kim voiced out loud in amazement. "They let it happen because it's part of some bigger plan, just like what we were arguing about earlier."

Her mom's face had suddenly turned hard and Kim was forced to explain what she had found out. Mrs. Possible was left with that angry look again but Kim had to venture, "do you believe that the thing with Wade is a part of the same plan?"

Her mom cocked an eyebrow at her. "Come on daughter. Ron uncovered information about a massive attack by hackers on government computer bases. Why would _you_ think they took Wade from the Load's?"

Shock and amazement socked Kim right in the gut. She raised a hand to a suddenly aching forehead as she mentally kicked herself. Now she _knew_ just how badly she had messed up her own sense of facts and reality.

It was time she got her act together or Ron was going to be right. She was going to miss something when she had to sit down with Shego.

"I am not telling you this," her mothers voice put in quietly, diverting though thoughts, "but so that you know part of where I've been coming from the last couple of days—"

Kim's eyes were back on her mom, but her mom was staring off into the corner and talking as if to someone else.

"As someone said, with certain clearance, you are _never_ discharged from your commission regardless of what you status shows. And with those clearances still in effect, if you have . . . . other . . . . useful talents, you can often be called upon to use them in . . . special circumstances."

Her mom craned her head back and shook her hair out. "You know how often doctors, especially critical specialists like neurosurgeons, get called for special cases. Of maybe it might be a phone call to be a sudden last minute replacement speaker at a conference for another doctor who had to cancel—"

Kim sucked in a breath. What her mother was describing happened at least two to three times a month to her taking her all over the country.

"Sometimes," her mom continued in this conversational tone, "the . . . . patients are injured in highly . . . . unusual ways that would suggest extreme trauma from something suggesting combat or at least police action. Sometimes it might be something as simple as a fall in the bathtub but the patient involved is a very, very, _very_ special person in one of the many worlds of, oh say, intelligence or terrorist or counterintelligence or whatever." She looked at Kim with a knowing smile. "Can't have a person like that in a regular operating room. Don't know what kind of secrets that could be babbled under anesthesia"

Kim actually felt awe and before she could stop herself, "is that where you know Prism from?"

The smile became a grin. "No actually, it isn't. And I'm afraid I can't tell you that story until the statue of limitations run out in about seventy years or so."

Kim gave an annoyed snort and her mom had to nod in acknowledgement. "I know. He is one of the more interesting individuals I've met in the last couple of years." She shook her head sadly. "I usually don't find out what happens to most of the patients I work on. I don't even know if some of them lived or died from their other injuries. I rarely find out what caused whatever happened to them."

Her mom then fixed her with the most unusual look. "Some of the few that I do learn about however. I remember this one, one of the first ones I did after your brothers were born. Pretty young lady. Had a brother who had gone bad and she stopped whatever it was that he had tried to do. I have no idea what it was, but I spent eight hours pulling metal fragments out of her skull. I know she lost her right eye but other than that I never found out anything else about how she recovered. I always wondered what happened to her. Her name if I remember, was Betty. That was all we were allowed to know, were their first names."

As her mom continued to stare at her with that look, Kim could only stare back at her—

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Once again everything was dark. And while the late night darkness of the hospital room was something normal, the darkness inside her, after so much progress, after so much work toward the light had silent screams of pain drowning out all other noises.

But those screams were in turn being drowned out by the even louder scream of rage!

For she knew. She _knew_!

She couldn't prove it and even if she could, who would believe her? The suicidal, alcoholic, almost-murderess who had nearly destroyed a world hero.

But goddamn it! She **_KNEW_** who had to be behind what had happened to the boy who was solely responsible for her taking the first faltering steps back toward the light. That brazen New Jersey **_BITCH_** had actually _talked_ about it and her comment about 'good cattle stock' in her former posse included two girls whose parents worked at the goddamned Space Center!

When Tara, after a long absence, partially due she knew to the stupid Cheer Camp thing, finally showed up, looking like a train wreck—

Bonnie had been so shocked that it had been a better part of a day before her brain started to function—

Started to remember—

Conversations, plots, plans, downright bragging and boasting which Bonnie had just completely blown off.

But nobody would believe her.

And they were finally shipping her out of here by the end of the week, sending her to some place in Oregon.

What could she do?

"Hey Ninja's" she said into the darkness. "We need to talk about honor and debts that need to be paid."

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In a deep room somewhere, Agent Smith was buzzed through the last secure door into a huge room filled with desks, computer consoles, situation screens and status boards. He walked over to one of these where Agent Smith was earnestly watching several screens with information flowing across them. He looked up.

"Welcome back. Sorry to hear you got jumped for not bringing 'Plasma' back."

Smith just shrugged. "'Fearless Red' pulled statue which I thought she'd never do. My ears are burning but that's all. What's the situation here?"

Smith looked over in the direction of the small alcove in the corner, a look of true worry on his face. "He hasn't left that console in twenty hours. I'm surprised he hasn't wet his pants. He hasn't eaten anything in two days and he's been so wrapped up in it, he hasn't even taken a sip of Coke in the last eight hours. He's broken five keyboards he's typing so fast—"

"Is it doing any good?" Smith asked impatiently.

Smith pointed to the multiple screens and Smith bent down to look at the info there, grunting, "Indonesia huh?"

"Yeah," Smith agreed pointing to the far side screen. "About ten minutes ago he isolated it down to the city block and we made the call."

Smith stood back up and looked at Smith. Both of their faces were very grim.

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In a dark dingy hallway, two figures moved. Dressed like foreign tourists, they had not attracted any attention as they had followed the final directions beamed to them from half a world away.

The lock on the door was a joke, the handsome, fair-haired American scarcely paused as he went though it, the dark-haired exotic female with him watching the hallway with all-seeing eyes for the moment it took him to complete his task.

Together they walked down the short, narrow hall, heads cocking as ears tried to interpret the strange, clicking/snapping sound a head of them.

The sound became all too obvious as they came into the portal of the 'living room'. Six people in front of six computers, working with such intense frenzy that the intruders were completely ignored.

The room was a disaster, strewn with debris of fast food meals and drinks. Bare mattresses lay over in one corner. A thick mound of dirt was piled under the far broken window.

No words were said, but several of the people in front of the keyboards were actually panting as sweat streamed down their faces. Their eyes were almost bugging out of their heads as they were locked to the screen and their exhausted, sore, brittle fingers stumbled across slick keyboards in frantic haste.

The man and woman stood next to each other, faces pointed into the room. Eyes slid toward the other for a single sidelong glance as hands started to reach—

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The two Smith's heads jerked down at an exclamation from the tech at the desk. The information streaming across the screens had suddenly started to lessen and in moments—

Both of them took long, slow, deep breaths.

"Hey?"

Agent Smith looked over at the young man who half leaned against the doorjamb of the alcove. Smith walked over and forced a smile. "How you doin kid?"

"I'm ready for bed."

"I think we can arrange that."

The kid nodded, then shook his head. "They went off line, one after the other in all of about three seconds so I assume the police raided the place they were at then. They were good. I'd like to meet them if I ever get the chance."

Smith pursed his lips real tight and took a moment before he carefully answered. "I think you can forget about that kid. The country they were in doesn't extradite to the U.S. and they're gonna be put away for a long time . . . a very long time."

The kid blew out an exhausted breath. "Too bad. They were good."

Smith grunted grimly. "Yeah kid, they were."

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Everything was rote, liner. One part after another, slow and steady until the task was done.

The problem was that he couldn't remember exactly what the end result of the task was any more.

The man with blue skin worked in the dim light of the warehouse. But the blue skin was almost a gray due to the sick pallor. No food or water since he'd arrived there, no attention to injuries to torso or right leg—

Nothing was left of the mind except the need to complete the task, to finish constructing the device that the compulsion had caused him to create and to have others assist in creating in the form of all the other parts, sections, devices and software that fortunately had been shipped here just in time prior to the attack on his island. The compulsion had demanded that all _that_ be done in secret, not even his closest advisers had known about it.

But the compulsion had been supported in his brain by the drug-induced state that his brain had been continually held in suspension in. None of his minions, henchmen or assistants had ever seen the device attached to the inside of his right groin which fed a slow but continuous stream of a narcotic in through an intravenous needle placed into his leg (one of his programmed 'tasks' while he had been incarcerated inside of the mental institution, had been, in order to make, and reinforce his self-esteem and sense of responsibility, was the replacement of the storage vials of the narcotic dispenser on a regular basis. This he had diligently continued, obtaining the narcotic through illegal channels, during the entire time since, as he had been programmed to do. He would be a bad boy if he hadn't completed this task).

But the small I/V tube connecting the unit to the needle had broken during the battle on his island (in fact he was in danger as the needle was precariously in danger of going into the vein and killing him) and the flow of the narcotic had stopped.

As a result, his brain, still under the influence of several other factors, was shutting down. All that remained was the need to complete the task and nothing, _nothing_ else mattered.

The proof of this was the wounded henchman who had dragged him out of the burning lab and into the flyer only to be hit by gunfire as they had fled the island. The flyer had been on autopilot to bring them to this special spot which it had diligently done so. The henchman had been begging for his boss to call for medial attention for him—

But the task was all that mattered. The henchman died in the seat of the flyer, never having moved from that spot.

Fortunately, the assembly of the device was a straight forward task that the blue skinned man had gone through in his mind a thousand times to the point where he could do it in his sleep.

And he eagerly did so, because he knew that at last, he would be able to sleep when the task was completed.

Everyone would. He remembered that much.


	22. Shego's Story Pt1 Ron  Revelations

Ron, with a groan and an exaggerated gritting of teeth, slowly peeled himself up out of his chair at the rear of last period as the rest of his class quickly and noisily bustled themselves out of the room. The exertions of the last couple of days, supplemented by his barely healed injuries, aggravated by the abuse incurred in his . . . attempting to sacrifice himself on the alter of his girlfriends mental health and well being, had caught up with him overnight leaving him about as pain free as an abscessed tooth and about as limber as case-hardened steel.

And while he would do it again in an instant, his body was letting him know in no uncertain terms that it would like to wait a while before he subjected it to any further extraneous activity, preferably several millenniums at least.

But he made his way out into the hall, (wincing as several students glanced off of him, in turn sending him doing the billiard ball thing into a couple of others) and slowly through the throng. He exited the building and started to turn toward where he was to meet—

And suddenly pulled up absolutely short when he almost ran headlong into Kim who had been waiting just to the side of the breezeway.

And as his mouth came open to express surprise and—

And his brain, for once reacting with admirable speed put a crash/halt on that impulse for all things considered, Ron was at the moment in hyper-sensitive mode considering Kim's moods and being uber careful _not_ to put his way too large feet into his normally overactive mouth because—

Kim's face was apprehensive, her eyes were worried and she was actively chewing at her lower lip and _this is not a good sign people._

Ron's face exploded in his own concern (almost going above and beyond as was his usual wont). "KP, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I—" and she hesitated. "I—I've got things to _do_ Ron."

Ron's face suddenly shut down as he tried, tried _very_ hard, to make sense of what she had just told him. _She has things to do. She always has things—_

Then the dim light lit in the back of his head and his face fell. Ron reached out and gently took Kim by the elbows, saying softly, "but you were going to _tell_ them—"

And Kim snapped her arms around to grab both of his hands in hers. "And I am Ron. But I still have to meet with everybody. The yearbook, the booster committee, the dance committee, the student counsel and all the rest. And I don't want to drop them all completely! I just want to take an advisory role in them. And I can't and won't drop my tutoring or what I do in the elementary school reading program and the cheer squad is having a meeting this afternoon for final plans for the trip to the State competition and . . . and—" and Kim just stopped with her mouth wide open—

And fear, guilt and anguish flaming on her face.

And Ron understood.

"And your mom," he said in a quiet, calming voice, "is waiting at your house where Shego should also be awake awaiting her . . . little talk."

Kim closed her mouth and her eyes _screamed_ at Ron for his help and understanding. He gave her a small smile for he did understand and he said, "you can't make yourself cut loose from all your commitments and responsibilities even though you told your mom that you would. Not yet anyway, not without at least making an appearance and having a word with everybody first. But your mom said that she _had_ to get to her office at some point so _someone_ has to go and relieve her."

Kim closed her eyes even as she squeezed Ron's hands. "I don't like asking this Ron. Shego could still be dangerous and you're in no shape—"

Ron squeezed back and gave her a goofy smile. "Hey, no problem for the Ronster. Whatever you're mom hit Shego with had to be pretty heavy stuff so I think we can count on that to hold for a while. And if not," and he shrugged, "that's what us distractions are for—"

And Ron suddenly felt his wind get knocked out of him as Kim _yanked_ him bodily into a tight embrace and squeezed him worse than any cobra even as she _hissed_ into his ear, "you _jerk_! If I hear that distraction crap one more time, I 'll. . . . I'll—"

"Uuugghhh!" was all Ron could manage back (even though it did feel good in a masochistic way of course).

"I love you you jerk" Kim whispered into his ear.

"I can tell," Ron wheezed back as she slowly relaxed her hold enough for him to breathe even as all the discomfort went away at the sound of those words.

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Ron was trying _not_ to make any mental comparison to walking into lion's dens (which he had of course done twice, both times by mistake with interesting results each time) as he walking into the Possible guest bedroom. His ears were still ringing from Mrs. Dr P's comments on her daughter ("'cranked' is putting it mildly"), but none of those had been directed at him and the feeling that Ron had gotten from Kim's mom was that she had felt that he was safe confronting this particular lion.

For that was the general impression as Shego stirred on the bed, stretched out lengthwise as she was with that big mane of hair behind her. She raised her head for a moment to regard him, her eyes, despite being deeply set and rimmed with crow's feet, were alert. But they were also hard and something else that Ron couldn't quite place immediately.

Then it came to him. They were flat, lifeless.

Shego's head then kinda flopped back down—

"So," came the thin, reedy voice that was almost as shocking at the eyes. But it had lost none of its sarcastic tone, "has the distraction come to distract me until little miss Kimmy can finish powdering her nose?"

Ron, searching for a way to conceal his own, sudden distress and confusion, tried to imagine some of his tough movie heroes and how some of them might handle an interview like this. His eyes snapped around the room even as his mind flailed around to try to come up with a witty answer—

On an impulse, he spotted the chair at the writing table. With what he hoped was a confident stride, he went over to it, pulled it out, and then sat, reversed style in it, laying his arms carefully in front of him out across the top of the back. He took a moment to marshal his thoughts before he brought his eyes up—

Shego had turned her head slightly in order to see what he was doing. A disgusted look was on her face and her voice reflected the same tone when she said, "you looked like you almost meant that." She then swiveled her head back upright and reached up in a tired manner to rub her face with her hands, a dismissive gesture towards Ron. She then plopped her arms back down and groaned, "so I guess it's more goddamn staring at the freaking ceiling until someone of importance shows up."

Ron bristled at both her meaning and tone and his mouth engaged before his brain, "well then, how about we just chat . . . as one sidekick to another?"

Shego's head snapped over in Ron's direction and although the wince and blinking of suddenly blurry eyes told the story that she regretted the knee jerk action; her voice was full of its old snap—

"I was a mercenary employee, not a _sidekick_. I had a written contract and benefits and terms. I got _paid_ big bucks for what I did. And any more crap like that outta a _loser_ like you and I don't care what mama Possible says, I'll—"

"Shego," Ron said quietly (so that she couldn't hear his voice tremble) with a raised hand (that he was trying very hard not to let quake), "let's clear the air and come to an understanding."

Shego's mouth closed but her eyes, other that an occasional blinking spasm, were angrily locked on Ron.

"Let it be a given that I'm" and now his voice did _crack_ and there was both a hitch and a tremor in it with, "scared . . . to death of you," Ron then forced himself to stop and regroup a moment before trying to go on with something resembling that same quiet voice. His face was a mask of his 'no-nonsense' one, fraying at the edges. But his eyes, they were true and hard and honest and were as locked onto Shego's as hers were his. "But then again, I'm terrified of everything outside of this house, my own house and the inside of Bueno Nacho so it's, as Kim would say, not so the drama. It's also a given that even right now, as wounded and weak as you are, you could still probably wipe up the floor with me so if it came to that, I would run."

But then Ron's eyes hardened just that much more as the fraying of the mask went away as he said the words, "but if the circumstances were different; if Kim, or her family, or my family; or one of the other causes that I hold dear were involved where I was actually forced to stand and face you, there's no doubt in my mind that you would win . . . but God willing . . . you would know you were in a fight."

There was a long moment where the very air between their eyes seemed to crackle—

And it was only broken when Shego suddenly gave a very slight nod of her head. "I know that, and I have no doubt that you would give me a real run for my money Ron."

Now it was Ron's turn to give a series of rapid eye blinks as his face fell in complete surprise. "M—m—my name? You know my first name?"

Shego's face flushed just the tiniest bit even as she pulled her head back around to look up at the ceiling, "dumbass. Give me some kinda credit willya. I am _not_ Drakken. I just told you that I'm a professional mercenary, an evil one yes," and she stopped and seemed to have to take a real hard swallow before continuing, "but a pro. That means that I make a point to know who I'm dealing with. Now while my main fight is with Kim Possible, you two are a team, a very effective one." She stopped again and sighed even more heavily— "To be honest, an unbelievably effective one cause you guys have _never_ lost in the end." She stopped again before saying almost in a whisper, "lets hope to God that you don't lose now."

Ron felt his insides tighten, fighting against the surprise and wonder that had just infused him from the totally unexpected comments from Shego regarding his own person. But he refrained from asking, not wanting to blow it for Kim.

Shego then rolled tiredly onto her side facing him. But she didn't look at him. In fact she seemed to be avoiding his eyes for she took great pains to watch as she traced invisible lines in the mattress with one pointed finger. "Of course I've always known that you're a complete and total coward."

Ron's head snapped back just like he had been slapped but then just a hint of a corner of Shego's mouth lifted in an almost smile even as she was still watching her finger. She then snorted, "not!"

And Ron's face was forced to change again, back to surprise and wonder and now he was really getting confused. Was she trying to get him off balance in order to get the drop—

"You're just too easy," Shego sighed sounding exhausted. "But then," she added as the hint of humor vanish, "I know that you really haven't ever encountered anybody like me yet have you? Yeah, I know—" she said to the sudden look of skepticism on his face, "like you'd ever believe anything I'd ever say. Well, let me throw your own words right back at you and add some more on top. Lets clear the air and come to an understanding. And as a part of that understanding let me finish what I was about to say. Stoppable, you may have a hard time believing this, but you have my respect because I know just how much of a frightened little worm resides inside of you and how much you battle it every time we're in action. And the fact that you do, and you overcome it most of the time and the fact—"

And at this point, Shego stopped all movement and seemed to take a moment to very carefully chose her words, "the fact that there are principles and beliefs and above all, people, that will cause you to totally cast aside your fears, that will make you totally disconnect the automatic defense mechanisms that the human animal was designed with," and she had to shake her head as if in disbelief.

Her finger went back to tracing the sheet. Shego's voice however dropped down a notch in volume when she said, "I had a basic respect for you before Ron. What I just talked about was part of it. Another was a grudging respect for your work in Team Possible. Now, that we . . . find ourselves together here, one-on-one, for the first time, I have to admit that I have to acquire more respect for you."

She stopped her tracing and brought the hand/finger over before her face, examining it minutely with her eyes as she continued, "I _have_ to because while I _can_ see that you _are_ scared to death of me, not that that is any surprise, but you are not only holding your ground in the face of the threat I represent," Shego then pulled her arm/hand away and her eyes finally flipped back up into Ron's and grabbed his in a lock that about froze his soul, "I can see that you really _really_ mean it if push ever came to shove—" And now her eyes narrowed _very_ dangerously. "And I'm sorry about that, because you're a nice guy, and now that I . . . see you in different light, that will make it, if we ever have that little confrontation, all that harder, because now I find that I do have a professional respect for you. So killing you in that fight would no longer be just pleasant fun."

Ron was glad that he was sitting down because his legs were suddenly like water even while his mouth and throat went totally dry.

Shego's eyes released his, falling back to give him a kind of automatic once over (he had seen her do this action many times before and he figured that this was an automatic action/reaction on her part). But then her eyes locked on something, going wide for just a microsecond then narrowing in intently, her face flashing through a whole mode of changes before an iron wall came down over her features.

_What did I do? What did she see?_ Ron gasped to himself as he felt even more unnerved than he had moments before from her pronouncement of his death. He couldn't help himself as too many twisting emotions were tearing through him and he had to pull his arms from where his hands had been dangling out in front of him off the back of the chair and wrap himself up tightly in his own embrace to try to get a handle on his self.

And even that motion seemed to cause Shego to frown.

Ron's mind cast about for something, anything to break her attention on him.

But there was really only one thing that _he_ was curious about involving her. And he knew that he shouldn't, he knew that it was probably sick and wrong—

But he was upset, terrified, off-balance, really angry and afraid to show it and needing to strike back and afraid to show it—

So he said it anyway—

"What happened on Drakken's Island Shego?"

The next thing he knew he was flinching away from the pillow hurtling into his face. That he managed to bat down. Ron however was not expecting the side table clock, the lamp, the plastic water carafe and everything else that was not nailed down and within reach of the suddenly raging faced woman to be instantly airborne and on a collision course for his nose!

Now something could be said for the convoluted twistings of the mind of Ron Stoppable. For in that moment, his prime consideration became, considering that he was dealing with an out-of-control woman who had just confessed her willingness to kill him, who was over and above better trained and more experienced to do so, who possessed the ability to fry him into green plasma charred kibbles and bits, whom he had just driven into an obvious rage of anger and wanton destruction with him as its primary focus and target, that his primary thought was that he was going to be in ssooooo much trouble with Mrs. Dr P for the damage to her guest bedroom that he didn't hesitate for a second—

He actually grabbed Shego by the wrists as she, out of ammunition to throw, lurched up off the bed onto her knees—

Seeing him there, feeling him there, she lit her plasma—

Ron felt the jolt run thought him like a million volts . . . he _heard/smelled/felt_ his hair singe—

Shego collapsed on the bed, Ron falling against the side of it.

All of Ron's barely healed injuries _screamed_! He felt the muscles start to lock up all over his body like massive Charlie Horses at every site where he had been hurt. His eyes screwed tighter than tight as his mouth opened wide in a silent scream of its own!

Then, almost as an afterthought, he called on his Sense's training—

It was several minutes later that he was able to open his eyes and with a groan slow push himself up fully onto his knees against the bed.

In front of him, all he could see was the top of Shego's head as she lay across the bed.

She wasn't moving.

He gingerly pulled/pushed himself along the edge of the bed until he could just make out her face—

Her teeth were clenched in a death grin of rage, her features were a gray mask of anger, her eyes were red and dry with not a hint of a tear although they looked as if an ocean was built back up behind them and was being held back by pure force of will—

Or guilt?

"Shego?"

"You son-of-a-bitch," came the ghost of a voice, raw, hateful, beyond angry. "I'd kill you now if I could."

Ron hesitated, then pulled himself back closer toward her as he tried to put as much comfort, as much peace into his voice and tone, "you said that you're a professional Shego. Well . . . they say that even professionals need to . . . I think the term is 'debrief' . . . when they have been through an especially traumatic incident. And it sure looks to me that you have . . . a bit to get out of your system—"

And again, like a snake, Shego struck, arms coming out of their fetal wrap and Ron never saw it coming as the backhand smacked across his face, the blood exploding from his nose to join the cut from the clock on his cheek (and the gash in his forearm from the glass from the side table lamp).

Ron rocked back dumbly onto his butt managed to get an arm over to keep himself upright. Grabbing the front of his shirt, he ripped it up to his face lest any blood get on the carpet—

Shego just lay there, glaring at him. But there was a glazed exhaustion in her eyes as if this battle was quickly depleting whatever recovered energy that she had managed to build up.

After a lloonnnggggg moment, Ron was able to once again, focus through the pain (although it was getting more and more difficult) and look at Shego—

"Feel bedder?" he managed to get out.

"Why do you want to know?" Shego croaked as the dry tears begged to stream down her face.

"You deed to dalk," Ron said thickly feeling nausea against the blood going down his throat. "And I deed do undersdand why Drakken did id, do his men. And how you led him do id."

Shego's eyes closed in the most absolute pain that Ron had ever seen. Pain so intense that Ron thought his own heart was going to stop and he was fearful that Shego's would!

"Because Ron," was the whispered reply that made Ron realize that Shego _wanted_ her own heart to stop because of the pain, the guilt that she felt for what had happened at Drakken's island, "I wasn't there to stop him."

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Ron had managed (clumsily) to doctor the worst of his injuries in Kim's bathroom (with its the well-equipped medical supplies available for Mrs. Dr P to tend to her daughters and Ron's needs after missions) and change into a blood free shirt from his stock of clothing in that same bath less he freak Kim when she finally arrived home.

Ron knew that she was going to have enough to freak over as it was. The sight of his singed hair, his red, bulbous nose and the start of raccoon eyes was going to launch her like a deep space probe toward her dad's Black Hole and he was going to be the science experiment shot into the event horizon. And he had wanted sooo badly to keep a lid on this whole mess for her.

Now he was going to be lucky to even be able to function. He didn't think he's ever been hit by one of Shego's plasma blasts before let alone grabbing it full on at the source. He could tell that his body was back to operating on back-up reserves and he knew that once his muscles laid down and cooled down, he was going to stiffen up into matter more solid that that found at the bottom of the afore mentioned Black Hole. Pain was not a word or a condition; to quote his Sensei, it _just was_.

But despite it all . . . he was worried to death about Shego. Dry eyed, face-of-death, guilt ridden, _angry_ Shego.

So it was with great, trepidation, reluctance, apprehension, and a whole slew of other words that he would need spell-check on his computer to write out, that he approached the door to the guest bedroom.

He heard some movement, which in and of itself puzzled him because he figured that Shego wasn't going to be doing anything and if she was, she was more than capable of doing it in complete silence.

So he added another completely unexpected, mind-boggling moment to his already overactive day when he peeked around the edge of the door—

Shego, in a pose which could only be called drained and shivering, was slowly, half-dragging herself around of the floor of the guest bedroom, gathering up the debris of her rampage (to the point of carefully _nitpickingly_ gathering the broken shards of glass from the lamp out of the carpet) and depositing them into the decorative trash can she was pushing ahead of her. She even had the box of tissues from the side table and was dabbing at the patches of blood that had dribbled onto the carpet from Ron's wounds.

Shego's expression hadn't changed a bit and Ron could literally feel the electric like tenseness in the air inside the guest room. He wanted to go in there about as much as he wanted to walk open eyed into the Monkey House in the New York Zoo—

"You could help," came the snarl that almost jerked him into the room as if he had a rope around his neck.

It was an undetermined time later that the majority of the damage was cleaned up (although the carpet was still going to need a lot of work between the blood and the water from the carafe). Ron moved the trash can over by the door and stood, looking and _feeling_ guilty and helpless at Shego, now almost down flat on her stomach, as she dragged herself back over towards the bed and attempted to pull herself back up onto it.

Several minutes of silence was broken only by sharp, frustrated sounding intakes of breath. Finally, Shego rolled her back against the side and glared at him as if _daring_ Ron to say or do anything.

Ron, just as silently, gently lowered his aching, bruised body straight down into a sitting position on the floor.

There, flaming, trembling green eyes met all-too-aware, shivering brown eyes in wordless battle—

"You," and Ron almost jumped out of his skin at the angry, _angry_, HATEFILLED tone of Shego's voice despite its low volume, "have no right, no place, no reason to be asking me these questions Stoppable."

Ron, fighting an almost unbearable urge to flee for his life called on every last ounce of his strength to stay—

"We're enemies," Shego continued, her tone getting even uglier if that was possible. "I've tried to kill you and if not you, you're precious little princess how many times! And if that isn't enough, what about the last several months which even a dumb ass like you _has_ to know is my doing." She flashed the most evil of grins (which was totally devoid of humor). "I almost destroyed her, without even physically touching her, didn't I?"

Ron just continued to stare at Shego even as his stomach twisted; he felt himself pale and the evil taste of nausea start in the back of his throat.

Shego watched him, waiting for further reaction—

Ron just continued to stare at her.

Shego's face snarled as a hint of disbelief came into it. "What _is_ the matter with you," she spat, "what—"

"You don't _have_ anyone you can talk to about it, do you Shego?" Ron asked in his quietest voice (managing to keep most of the tremors out).

If it was possible for someone as depleted as Shego to swell with fury—

Ron threw out both of his hands in a stopping motion, his eyes and face wide with panic even as he _fought_ to keep his voice from becoming like a six-year-old—

"I'm still your enemy! I'm still the buffoon, the sidekick! But by GOD! Shego, I'm also a person who can tell when there's someone who needs to spill their guts about something that's killing them inside because I've been in a constant state of that for almost as long as I've been alive and there has been times that not even Kim wanted to listen to what I wanted, what I _needed_ to say!"

Shego had stopped in mid-eruption and now could only stare at Ron with a look akin to someone finding something most unbelievable on the underside of their shoe. She then slowly, ever so slowly, retracted in back on herself until she was curled up with her knees tucked under his chin and her arms wrapped around her legs—

She sat there for the longest time, again, just . . . staring at him, as if gauging him, judging him.

"Drakken," she said without warning (and Ron about jumped out of his boxers); and that name, that very word, held more emotions than Ron could count—

But fear led the way, and that caused Ron's guts to tighten even more.

"He," she continued, eyes now haunted as they peered out from under her heavy black bangs, "must have had information or something of what was coming." Shego then shook her head in amazement. "I was so wound. I wasn't thinking like I normally do. If I had been, I would have realized—" and she tapered off for a moment as those eyes went far away.

Shego's eyes then snapped back to Ron. "He sent me to deliver his birthday present to his mother." She snorted a little angry half laugh as her face clouded up but the eyes remained dry. "A birthday present for his mother, whose birthday isn't until next spring—"

Ron caught his breath in sudden understanding and his jaw fell slack—

"He knew about the attack and he sent you away?" he whispered in wonder. "Why—" And Ron pulled his gaze down to his lap shaking his head. "Why would he do that?"

"I've been asking that question," Shego said as if she was talking to a hundred ghosts that Ron could not see, "and I don't think I'm ever going to have an answer." Then her eyes closed and a great, shuddering breath wracked through her. "I said I was a professional mercenary. And up till now, except for Drakken, I've also been a loner since I left Team Go. I didn't have, didn't want, any lasting contacts or relationships with regular humans."

Ron looked back up just as Shego's eyes opened and he sucked in a breath as a single tear started down one of her cheeks.

"Up till now, regular human males were just good for a roll in the sack when I was on vacation or a long weekend. Regular human females," and Shego just shrugged as if the term was a throw off, " . . . just didn't exist unless they were part of some kind of job." Those green eyes, now filling, overflowing with the same grief that Ron had seen earlier, turned on him and tears started to run down both cheeks—

"I think I maybe made friends Ron. I'd never had a 'staff', a crew that actually efficiently took care of what I told them to do. Most of Drakken's henchmen and hirelings were always such flakes but starting with Bueno Nacho and the research leading up to the Diablo's, he actually started using quality regular humans and he continued that into this project." She looked at him with the saddest eyes. "There were a couple on my staff, both male and female, that we use to meet and joke over the water cooler—"

Shego grinned lopsidedly. "There was a girl from South Africa. She had just as sarcastic and as nasty a sense of humor as I do and we would get _into_ it."

One hand came up to scrape at an eye, "my research tech, a complete and total psycho nerd. But he had an iguana called Godzilla that he loved—"

Both hands came up to cover Shego's eyes. "I don't know why Drakken did it. He was crazy, off the deep end, completely, dangerously whack. But why did he have to have his island destroyed, all of his regular humans killed! My—" Shego choked back a sob, "my fri—" With a violent jerk, Shego pulled her hands from her eyes and started to rub at them with the sleeves of her robe. Her sobs and tears had stopped as if turned off with a switch and her face and voice was cold and hard," never had friends before, was better off without em."

Ron was trying his best to keep a calm, cool, exterior, but inside he was a mess. He honestly didn't have any idea of the condition of his own feelings or emotions—

But Shego's—

"But some of them _had_ to survive," Ron ventured. "Didn't they?"

And he was immediately was pulling himself back into a tight little ball against the wall. If he thought that it looked like Shego was going to blow before, that blast was only explosive and this was going to be hydrogen.

"_I didn't, I didn't_," he stuttered in pure panic.

Shego seemed to titter at the very edge, a slight glow actually coming to the tips of her fingers . . .

That seemed to be enough to . . . the effort . . . it was enough to cause her to sag back against the bed like the air being let out of a balloon.

Ron took a moment to recover his self, steady his breathing and bring his heart down from its zillion beats per second. When he again looked at Shego—

She looked a zillion miles away.

And Ron knew, that she was . . . there . . . again.

He slowly, wincing at the protests of his own body, crawled across to a place to the side of her against the bed. He then, tensing himself for the reaction—

"What happened Shego?"

"I didn't go straight to his mothers house," replied the lifeless voice. "I knew, I could feel it as sure as death, that Drew had completely lost it and was going to do something more than just evil. It was going to be something . . . disastrous." And a shudder went through the huddled form.

"So instead of going right to his mothers," and the guilt dripped thickly in every word, "I went and made the rounds of my personal contacts, only to find that most of them had been taken out by . . . powers then unknown by me."

"Damnit!" Shego whimpered in the tightest voice Ron had heard her use yet, "any hope I had of getting a handle on Drakken by myself was shot right out the window. I was in a total info blackout as well having absolutely no backup or fallback if things went sideways. If only I had had _any_ idea—" and a fist pounded on the carpet in frustration.

"What?" was all Ron could ask.

Shego snorted in reply and shook her head. "Isn't it obvious? I beat feet over to Drakken's mom, surprised the snot out of her and the shit outta me when I was reminded when her _real_ birthday was—"

What could only be described as a half growl/sob then wracked Shego's body. Ron's instinctive reaction was to reach out and one hand actually did so, getting halfway there before common sense reasserted itself and saved his hand.

"I—" and Shego's voice was so horse that Ron could barely understand her, "I almost burned out the flyers coils I redlined it so hard trying to get back to the island." Her head then came upright and she shook the hair out of her face, baring it so that the world could see the self-loathing on it. "But it was entirely too late. It was a small task group, just three ships, but of course, they had used overwhelming firepower."

A hand came up to wipe at a dry eye. "Thick smoke from the citadel extended several miles out to sea. That, with the stealth characteristics of the flyer, allowed me to actually get it in and hidden on the downwind side. The attacking force was pretty well done mopping up, they were down to putting everyone they had found into body bags." Shego looked back over her shoulder at Ron, "I saw the South African girl go into one. She wasn't a fighter Ron. I don't know how she died, but she wasn't a fighter."

Ron's stomach was as rocky as a river bottom and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara even as he tried, "m—maybe—"

Shego pulled her face away from him even as her voice turned acid; "all I know is that I found an outcrop where I could see and hear the command post without being seen. There I found your friend, Dr. Director, arguing with _THEM_ about the status of some of the other survivors. The good doctor was finally warned to shut up or she would be sanctioned because the decision had already been made. The involved detainees would be _debriefed_ for whatever information would be helpful in the operation, then they would be _dealt with_!" Another sob wracked her. "One of them mentioned was my researcher."

Ron felt as if a physical blow had been laid to his stomach and he literally had to turn as nausea welled up and threatened to overcome him. Memories of stories of his grandfather David and his great cousin's Abram and Jozef as well as all those relatives who did _not _survive in the face of the Nazi's swept through him.

When Ron managed to regain some of his control, "what did you do? Did you try to break them out? Is that how you got hurt?"

There was a long . . . long— moment of silence, ending with a hate filled whisper, "no." and the hate was directed inward.

Ron's eyes grew very large. And Shego's voice was that of a dead woman walking, "there was too much at stake Ron. If I tired to get them out and got caught or killed—" She shook her head sadly. "Drakken had gotten away. From the way Dr. Director and _they_ were talking, that much was plain. Like I said earlier, he must have known that this was coming and it was all part of the plan. But he told me Ron that his plan is in its final stages, ready to go. By the time they figure out where he is, if they're even capable of finding out where he is, it'll be too late."

Ron's stare turned hard. He understood Shego's logic, but that also meant that she had left in order to save her own skin because if she had just turned herself over then and there and _told_ them where Drakken was—

"And I know what you're probably thinking," she said grimly. "But it's not just my butt I'm trying to save. I knew that if I got the princess involved, that there was a good chance that I might be able to save Drew's life as well. He's crazy Ron; he's not responsible for what he's doing. _They_ would kill him outright if I had just told them where he was."

_Well, I see her point,_ Ron thought,_ I don't like it and I certainly don't agree with it, but I wasn't there and I'm not Shego and I don't have her point of view. But I guess I have to accept it. It's certainly easier to accept than what the People in Black had in store for the detainees._

"Then how did you get hurt?" he asked.

Shego snorted. "Tired to get out the same way I got in. But I should have figured that they would be more watchful of outgoing escapees than anybody trying to come in. The flyer took a sea-to-air missile when I was going flat out about ten feet over the water at about a two miles out from the beach." Another snort. "That was about the roughest landing I've ever had. Don't remember much after that except for the pain. All I can guess is that I floated into shore and then crawled onto the beach and into the brush."

Ron could only wonder at what would have happened to Shego if Kim hadn't noticed the scrap of her clothing—

And speaking of Kim, he had been in the Possible residence for _hours_ now. Surely that had been enough time for her to do whatever it was that she had to do. She should have gotten home by now.

So Ron just nodded at Shego and painfully started to pull himself to his feet. "Well, thank you for telling me. I hope that it did you some good somehow. But I'm going to take this trash out. Do you need anything from the kitchen or anything?"

Shego wasn't watching him; her eyes were still 'elsewhere'. But she did manage to shake her head no. But as Ron gathered up the trashcan and painfully hobbled from the room, Shego's eyes flashed over toward the retreating figure. A sad look passed over the angry, guilty features as the thought ran through Shego, _now it really is going to be hard to kill him when the time comes. But now I have no choice. I've let him see a side of me that I want no one else to see._ She brought her head up for a great, shuddering breath as she allowed one more, single tear to escape. _Sorry Ron, but just as curiosity killed the cat, the same goes for the sidekick. Especially ones who are brave enough to stand up to the likes of me and strong enough to take a direct, flesh-on-flesh contact of my plasma _and_ remain standing._

Then Shego's eyes narrowed and there was a small shake of her head. _When did you get that strong in mind, body and spirit Stoppable? And why didn't I know about it before?_


	23. Shego's Story Pt2 KimRon Debrief

A/N: Sorry this was so long in coming. October was totally shot with three weekends taken with events (2 World War II and a Scottish Highland Games) and the forth dedicated to a little thing like a twenty-six year wedding anniversary. Since then it's been one thing after another; car blew up and had to spend two weekends shopping for a new one, mother board on computer blew up, never had one blow up before, thought it was the power supply, screwed around with it, screwed it up, paid the price. But life goes on. Promise things should go a little more quickly from here on out (fingers firmly crossed behind my back).

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Ron, as he moved into the hall carrying the trash can was actually glad that _everything_ hurt if only because it gave an illusion of nothing hurting and that helped draw attention away from the massive throbbing in his face/head. What he could not ignore was that he couldn't breathe through his nose and that he could still taste blood. He hoped that his nose wasn't broken but he had been afraid to try anything with it when he had been doctoring his other injuries.

He also hoped that he could manage to . . .

But it didn't happen—

For he only got fewer than a couple of dozen steps down the hall before his knees gave out and he fell forward, barely managing to catch himself on his hands and knees as his whole body erupted into a quivering mass of jelly; his fear and panic finally saying that it could hold back no longer as it arose and overwhelmed him.

Ron wanted to scream, he wanted to thrash wildly, he wanted to sob, he wanted to flail about in the biggest tantrum he had ever had . . . and he didn't dare!

So he had to settle for silent kneeing cries as he took his head into his hands and solidly thumped his forehead into the carpet, the self-inflicted agonizing blows just above his raw face only reinforcing his own disbelief and anger at himself at to how he had _ever_ managed to force himself into the position and place that he had.

Then something touched him . . . and he almost lost _everything_ in his sudden, shocked terror!

And it was only because his vision registered, (as his eyes had blasted _wide_ open) and a part of his mind that was seeking comfort and solace recognized, the very ends of long flowing tresses of red hair that were streaming down to one side of his view having come from behind his head—

_That_ slapped at his panic enough to realize that it was a hand that had touched the back of one of his shoulders from above/behind him and as the blaze of panic induced 'noise' in his mind and soul faded, he could at last hear—

"Ron? _Listen_! It's me! It's Kim!"

All of the tension instantly drained out of him—

But pain, tripled by the sudden whip cording of his body filled the void. And as his girlfriends touch turned to a grip on his shoulder and tried to get him to rise back up, he gave a cry of pain unlike any she had ever heard before from him.

Kim instantly ceased her efforts. She backed away from her stance astraddle him in the hall. Her draped hair hid her face, her expression, as she stood stock-still, seemingly unsure of herself.

After a long, _long_ moment, "Ron?" Kim asked in a low, neutral voice.

"I—its o—okay," he managed to reply as he tried to get a grip. "J—j—just give me a minute."

Kim again shifted back, drawing further away from him, and lowing herself into a squat with her back against the hall wall just beyond the end of his legs. She didn't try to pull her hair back but left it covering half of her face.

Ron was taking slow, deep breaths, trying to flush the sick feeling out of his stomach and head, trying to get the trembling out of his limbs—

A small, isolated part of his mind wondering what was missing at this moment?

"Ron," Kim—Kim _hissed_ at him?!? "What did you—?"

"Just wait please," he gruffed at her, unsure of her mood, of _why_ her mood— And he gave a flinch as it sounded like her reply was a . . . snort of anger or impatience.

That motivated him to gather himself, getting his hands and knees under him and slowly pushing himself upright onto his butt.

And as he came upright, he got his first look at Kim's face—

And although he really couldn't _see_ her face—

But he didn't like what little he saw.

Ron could _see_ anger and hurt. And this time it was directed at _him_!

For Kim had just sniffed the singeing of Ron's hair and couldn't have missed the difference in his body movement since school. She has also taken in the sight of his red nose, puffed lips and the beginnings of a major set of raccoon eyes.

And with all those sights and smells and the realizations behind them, Kim shook the hair out of her eyes even as her face took on the expression of a triggered nuclear device—

"It's my fault!" Ron said directly into the inferno raging in those emerald eyes. "Shego's not responsible for what happened. I am!"

And at that moment, those emerald eyes closed and Kim bodily turned herself away from him, facing back down the hall, arms tightly wrapping around under her breasts in the body language of total rejection.

Ron just kept right on going, trying to get it all out before Kim stopped him, trying desperately to get his mental feet under him and explain his failure to stay out of trouble—

But at the same time do something to keep Kim from making a clean sweep and _killing_ Shego as well (not that Kim probably felt she need _any_ kind of an excuse for that right now).

"Shego" Ron said, laying it all on the line, "is right now lying almost helpless on the floor in there, without the strength to even get back up into bed. I have, through my own idiocy, managed to undo all your mothers' hard work in helping Shego's health and recovery. I'd guess that she's even back beyond square one right now because of me. _And_ I managed to trash the entire guest bedroom as a bonus."

Kim's eyes remained closed but her voiced _snarled_, "and just what did you think you were doing in there Ron? You were just suppose to be keeping an eye on her, not driving her over the deep end to where she was going to use you as a punching bag."

Ron fought to come up with an answer that would placate her even though he knew that there wasn't one. As the gears in his brain jammed and ground into dust, Kim jumped in on top of him, not wanting to wait for whatever his explanation was.

And it would seem that she wouldn't have cared regardless of the nature of Ron's tale. For in a voice that managed to be both aching with hurt and filled with rage, she said, "or were you going to try to hide this from me somehow? Was this going to be another thing that you thought that I wouldn't want to listen to you when you wanted to or you _needed to_ say or do something to someone?"

Surprise and horror filled Ron's face. "Y—you were listening?"

It looked like a shiver or a wince coursed though Kim's shoulders and neck. But whatever is was did not touch her voice as it turned even harder, "I was coming down the hall just at the point where Shego was gloating about what she had done to me and what a dumb ass like _you_ had to know about it."

Even from behind her, Ron could see that Kim's arms/hands weren't just wrapped around her body, they were held there in a death like grip because they were trembling so hard. "I wanted to run in and strangle you Ron," she again hissed in a tone that drove him cold. "How anyone care about anyone like her after everything she's done to us. How could you give a good goddamn about _her_ after everything she's done to _me_!"

At the word '_me_', Kim sucked in a great breath, rising up on her knees with her hands coming out in front of her as if she was actually choking someone as rage, hate and grief cascaded across her features. Ron looked at her with fear anew, fear of a type he had not known since this girl before him had been under the influence of a broken moodulator set to rage—

And this time there was no microchip to burn out—

"K—K—Kim?"

"Shut UP Ron!"

And there Kim Possible seemed poised forever, on the brink of a rage so terrible—

Then, in what could only be described as a sudden childlike, angry, pouting 'plop' back down onto her butt, Kim threw herself into that position, returning to her former, shell-like angry pose.

Then, it seemed more than forever (with Ron's heart ready to stop the entire time) before Kim's eyes opened and she took a long, ragged, angry sounding breath. Then, still looking straight ahead, she said in a tight, trembling voice, "I am mad at you Ron Stoppable. I am very mad at you." Then maybe just bottom lip managed to tremble just a little bit before she added, "I don't think I've _ever_ been this mad at you."

Ron heard this . . . he really did. And he could hear/see/feel her anger and rage—

But somehow . . . it didn't feel—something didn't feel—

If it was any possible for her voice to actually get _more_ emotional, Kim managed it; and Ron physically _cringed_ as she talked—

"And when you came out and passed me where I had ducked back into the hall door of the guest bath and I _saw_ you . . . I . . . I" and what the sound she made at that moment actually could not be described accurately but might have been a dry sob.

And Ron _more_ than frantic as _all_ his instincts screamed at him trying to identify just what didn't _feel right!_

"_Why_ Ron?" And she sounded like she was almost . . . begging?!? "Why do you keep—? Why are you still getting—?" and Kim's voice just stopped and it was if it was once again that she couldn't say it, for she strained, and strained . . . and the words just didn't come out—

And her head dropped with a sharp, angry wag that had to have _hurt_ considering how tender parts of her body—

But that wag gave Ron a chance to get a better look at, at least part of her face—

And what he saw—

And the light finally burst in the back of his brain.

"KP?"

"SHUT UP RON!"

"No."

Kim's head snapped back upright and her whole body went as stiff as steel.

"Kimberly," Ron said in his softest voice, "I'm so, so sorry if this has _scared_ you. I'm sorry that I hurt myself again and that has _scared_ you. And I'm really sorry that I did some dumb things with a really dangerous person who could have . . . could have killed me if she had wanted too and that _really scared_ you. But I had to—"

"Don't say it Ron." Kim breathed to him in a voice which _pleaded_ to him. Ron hesitated; but then, he opened his mouth to say it, because it _had_ to be said.

But a miserable voice beat him too it. "Because . . . because you don't have to say it," Kim now started to sniff and sniffle as the tears started at last. But she gamely ignored them as she went on. "If we're truly going to be the team that I keep preaching that we should be, I—I'm going to have to accept that you're growing, changing, becoming more a—assertive, more willing to do what has to be done and that at times, there's a . . . price to be paid for it."

But then her eyes closed again and a shuddering sob went through her. "But you've been getting hurt so often and so badly and it _SCARES_ me now Ron." She tried to get a handle on her breathing and only after a moment, in only a slightly calmer voice, she added, "it's making accepting those changes so very hard. And that hurts, because it makes me want to break my promises to you and to me about changing our relationship." Her head then swiveled around to him, but her eyes could not come up to meet his. "I can't handle being this scared for and about you Ron. At least not now. Not with everything else going on."

Ron gave her an understanding nod. "I'm sorry KP. I really am. I guess that the 'Ron Factor' only seems to go so far and I guess that I've used up my allotments recently. But it's not like I'm going out of my way to have it happen or that I'm doing it on purpose. Hey, remember me? The guy with the aversion to the 'pain' part of 'no pain-no gain'."

Kim's eyes, the tears running steadily, were still lowered. But with this statement from him, she again pulled her head back around to face away. A long moment went by.

Finally she sucked in a breath that shuddered before managing, "I'm sorry if I got angry Ron. And I'm sorry if I've allowing the drama to get me. I've—"

"KP," Ron said in a voice full of love and support, "you've been on a tightrope for more than the last couple of days. You've been wrapped up tighter than Juniors pants; you've been dealing with an overwhelming degree of emotions, mainly anger which is so unnatural to you. You've got problems with your mom and between your parents plus whatever is going on with Shego, Drakken and the Couple in Black thrown in on top. Then I come in and make my usual skrag of it, scaring you to death in the process."

Kim's head came back as she looked up at the ceiling, just a ghost of a smile coming to her lips. "You did oh so good a job of it Stoppable," she said in a shaky tone. "Like I said, when you came out of that room—" and again her head came around but this time her eyes met his and Ron could see and _feel_ the shock and pain in them. "And when I actually _saw_ you, especially your face, I—I wanted to die." She managed a small snort. "But that was only after I killed you and Shego first." And this she was able to get out with just a hint of humor in her voice.

Ron gave her a gentle smile back. "I could tell. Anytime that I'm down and I get just a hand on the back of a shoulder instead of arms around me anymore tells me that there are majo problemos. You've gotten me too spoiled with your hands on-approach Possible."

Kim's eyes went wide with surprise, followed by a real little-girl giggle.

Ron made a slight movement toward her (it was all he could manage) but it was all she needed to turn about and flow across to him and into his arms (carefully). She buried her face in his shoulder, not _quite_ crying but—

"I know I have to work on the trust for you Ron," she sniffled into the pocket of his shoulder. "I can do no less if I mean to keep my word about us really being _Team_ Possible. You're not helping matters by getting hurt all the time, but I just have to trust that the 'Ron Factor' will if nothing else keep you _alive_."

Kim pulled her head back and those watery but blazing emerald eyes locked onto his. And while her voice had a catch, and worry and fear of the unknown lurked in the background of her tone, faith and conviction where forced to the fore when she continued with, "and after having the major artery in your leg being nicked by a harpoon and surviving, after being shot at eight times at point blank range without even a moderately serious hit, after being _insane_ enough to get me to blow my top _on purpose_ and take a full body blow from me just as starters—"

Now her look changed as she dropped her head/lids enough for those emerald jewels to laser straight though into his heart and soul—

"The Ron Factor _is_ working my love," she breathed at him as her heart poured out at him. "You're just pushing it to the max. And I will _try_ to trust in it, and therefore trust you, to do what you have to do. But in the future could you just maybe—" and she hesitated for a moment.

Ron's brown eyes managed to twinkle. "No more heart-to-hearts with your worst enemies, not at least without you're knowledge."

Hers sparkled back at him with green highlights. "If Shego is down the way you say she is, all I would have wanted was a ringside seat and a bag of popcorn."

Ron grinned. "Booya."

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Shego looked up with an expression that could only be labeled 'unreadable' when the two teens walked into the room. She was still propped against the side of the bed in a listless position.

"Bout time," she breathed. "Now maybe between the two of you, you can get me back up without breaking my neck. Stoppable there would have dropped me for sure."

Kim sat _hard_ on the instant flash of anger, struggling mightily to maintain herself in strictly a professional tone.

"Ron," she said with a point of a finger, "two-man fireman's."

With the simple rescue carry, they were able (with Kim skittering across the top of the bed on her knees) to get Shego placed back up into the pillows/headboard. Kim then allowed Ron to help get the depleted woman adjusted by himself while she looked around and she inwardly winced at the damage to the room. Ron had already briefly described how cranked her mom had been about her not coming straight home from school. Adding this on top of it—

Kim gave a glance back at Shego . . . followed by a double take—

Shego seemed to be staring intently at her only to break the gaze when she realized that _she_ had realized—

Kim gave a quick glance down at herself, trying to figure out what it was that had caused Shego such interest. She had on her gray tee and brown pants; she had been standing with her hands on her hips (her right hand/hip towards Shego)—

Nothing that she could think of could have caused—

"Alright _princess_—"

And this time it took all of her strength not to grit her teeth because that word had taken on such new meaning for her—

And she knew that Shego would mercilessly abuse it if she even gave a clue.

So Kim just turned to face her enemy, crossed her arms and said in as level a voice as she could, "can we make this as simple as possible Shego? Where's Drakken and how do we stop whatever it is that's he's doing?"

A grim smile came to the gray face of the woman in the bed. "I wish it was that easy princess. The problem is that the 'new' Drakken was extremely tight-lipped verses the old. I only have hints, a few clues I managed to find on my own and my own intuition. We're going to have to puzzle this one out. It would help us if we could get you're little computer geek in on it. He had to be taken out back at the beginning but I imagine that we could bring him back now."

Shego's smile didn't change as she saw the flash that ran across both the teens' faces and she acknowledged with a snort. "Yeah I know," she sighed. "Neat piece of work that was wasn't it."

Kim's hands instantly dropped to fists of anger at her sides and it was all she could do not to take a step toward the bed as all the memories of the agony and helplessness of Mrs. Load ran through her memory—

Let alone scenes from an Internet video from an army post shower room—

And that her mother had been right again—

"How," and even Ron's eyes and tone was like a laser burning a hole through the figure in the bed.

A shrug. "Your genius, after his little unfortunate incident with Team Impossible, really did set his system up to be literally unhackable. So I had to take a different approach. I hired a burglar recommended by some of the top movers of organized crime. Said to be the best in the biz, other than myself of course—"

Kim and Ron both blinked. "B—burglar?" Ron managed.

Shego actually managed a chuckle. "The little geeks got the whole world wired and that takes a _lot_ of memory space. That and all of his hologram garbage. Every inch of his house outside of his room that isn't used by the rest of his family is taken up with equipment and such for that purpose. The attic is full of servers and switchers and—"

"And your burglar got in there—" Kim finished that part for Shego.

Another shrug. "My hackers designed a program that simply had to be put into one of the servers and ZAP, right into Mr. Loads hard drive goes all those dirty pictures the first time that server is accessed for a routine operation. Of course file names; dates and times were all preloaded to make it look like he had been at it for months. Simplicity itself. Didn't have to worry about the burglar alarms or security cameras that protect the doors or inside of the house itself and we felt that since the server was already 'inside' all of the firewalls and protections, that no one would ever think to check the exterior cameras or the servers themselves."

"What other jobs did 'your burglar' do?" Kim grated out, barely keeping control of her temper as she thought about the computer code changes that had brought disaster to her fathers project and Felix.

Shego raised empty hands. "He was hired to do two jobs. The other involved a _little_ kidnapping. But unfortunately that task was already done by someone else before he got to it." Her eyes dropped and she shook her head. "Still had to pay for him though. Drakken didn't like that. THAT part of him didn't change."

Ron's brow suddenly knitted and after a moment he came halfway out of his chair with a cry, "he was going to kidnap Rufus wasn't he? But Bonnie's girls got him first."

Shego gave him an impressed look. "What have you been eating lately Stoppable, you're brain is actually starting to work on more than one cylinder."

Anger now flushed Ron's face. "What were you going to do—?"

'Save it Ron," Kim broke in on him. His head snapped over to look at her and despite her own agitation, she gave him a claming motion, "she didn't get him and we believe that he's okay. So let's not screw with things that have no direct bearing on what we're doing."

After a moment, Ron nodded and with an effort, he calmed himself and resumed his seat in the writing chair.

Kim looked back to the depleted figure in the bed. "So, do we have to wait until we can get in touch with Wade or can we do anything right now?"

Shego shrugged again. "You tell me. The way I have it figured, I think that Drakken is somewhere right here in this little burg of yours. It's all a matter of finding where."

"Here?!?" blurted Ron.

"In Middleton!?!" shot out Kim.

Both teens stood and stared for the longest moment—

"It's because of us . . . isn't it?" Kim said with a cold finality to her voice.

Shego's smile was back but it was just as cold. "That would be my guess. Like a moth to the flame." And Shego actually licked her lips at this moment before adding, "and that statement could very well be the truth because I have no _facts_ to support it." She gave a meaning full look to each of the teens as she said, "it's purely intuition. But considering that he as mad as a hatter, my gut says that he's here."

Kim's face had gone from cold to grim. "And we just have to figure out where?"

Shego nodded.

Kim's eyes bored into her. "Any ideas?"

Shego's eyes bored back just as hard. "As a matter of fact, I do."

Kim's eyes narrowed. "They why don't you tell us?"

Shego's eyes grew hard. "Because I can't."

Again both Kim and Ron blinked. Ron actually shook his head and screwed a finger into one of his ears to make sure he's heard right. Kim, with an incredulous look on her face started to open her mouth—

"Here's my problem princess," Shego sighed before Kim had a chance to speak. "I'm absolutely convinced that Drakken has gone off the deep end, that whatever it is that he has can in fact destroy the world and that he in fact plans to use it to do just that just as soon as he can manage it."

"Then why wont you—" Ron started.

"Because I'm also convinced that if you can find him, that you, Team Possible, will defeat him and once again save the world causing life to go on. Therein lies my problem."

Ron stared at her for a whole minute then slowly reached up moaning, "my head hurts."

Kim meanwhile was chewing at her lower lip until, "you have a piece of information which to you is professionally privileged. You think or believe that information could be the key to finding Drakken here in Middleton, but by revealing it to us, you would be breaking your professional confidentiality. As the world is about to be destroyed, you would normally be willing to do that. But being that you trust us to save the world once we identify the source and get the information, then it would be known that you violated that confidentiality and although you would be alive when 'life goes on', your career wouldn't be worth a nickel because of your violation of that professional standard."

The grim smile was back. "Now I know why you get all those 'A's" Shego breathed.

"And it made my head hurt worse," Ron moaned.

_And yet_ Kim thought as she chewed even harder at her lower lip, _your trusting Ron and I to be able to figure this out despite your refusal to just give us the information. And you were convinced that neither Agent Smith's department nor the group belonging to the Couple in Black would be able to either figure it out or torture it out of you in any kind of realistic time frame. That means that we have to already have some kind of idea of what we should be looking for. Does that mean we know where Drakken could be? Or does it mean that we _know_ the person or persons who have the information? Someone evil?_

Kim's face fell and her shoulders slumped. Her jaw hung slack and it was all she could do to force herself to speak. "You _can't_ mean Bonnie Rockwaller can you? Were you two working in concert on my destruction? Not even _she_ would be—"

Shego waved her off. "No princess. I know all about Rockwaller." Shego then stopped and looked Kim right in the eye. "Believe me when I say, that I know _everything_ that Rockwaller did and had planned for you. But I promise you that she was not my source."

Kim's stare grew harder. "Then who—?"

Shego sighed and folded her arms, "I've practically thrown it into your lap Possible. If you can't figure it out, feed the lump with the sore head over there (indicating Ron) some raw cheese to see if his IQ goes up some more."

Anger crept into Kim's face. "Everything that is at stake here and you're going to play games like _this_? I put my butt on the line for you and—"

"Nobody said I was going to play nice and fair princess," Shego snapped back coming upright in the bed. "Not when it was my _life_ that was on the line. I'd lie through me _teeth_ if I had too. But I'm _not_! And I will tell you that whenever you figure out who this person is who I believe is the key to where Drakken is _if_ he _is_ here in Middleton—"

And then Shego collapsed as if deflated back into the pillows, her voice reduced to a whisper, "that person is also responsible to what happened to your friend Renton."

"What?!?!" Ron managed to choke off his scream to a whisper of his own as he came right off the chair.

The two teens heads swiveled to look, slack jawed at each other, before looking back to the bed. Shego gave them a brush-off motion with her hand. "Go figure it out," she said in an exhausted tone. "And bring me back something to eat. Stoppable burned out all my energy. I need to recharge."

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The two teens were in the Possible kitchen; Ron was throwing something together (with Kim doing all the bending, stooping, reaching and gathering but definitely _not_ fixing).

"Shego's got to have someone planted in town," Kim speculated behind tightly knit brows as she gathered the last of what Ron wanted from the refrigerator. "An agent who could be in position to keep an eye on things and report back."

"But its someone we'd know," Ron mused as he worked rapidly with a knife. "That almost means that it would have to be someone at school."

Kim froze for a moment as she crossed the floor toward Ron. His head snapped over, seeing her expression—

"KP?"

Her face turned . . . worried and . . . unsure—

"It couldn't be . . . Whitler could it?" she said with dread and disbelief in her voice.

Ron's face furrowed. After a long moment he said carefully, "if we're going to believe Shego, I can't see where it could be her because as far as _I_ know, she has no connection to the Space Center."

Kim considered this and after a long moment, nodded slowly. "You're right," she said, sounding relieved. "But there's a lot of kids that we know who have people, parents, siblings, other relatives, employed at the center. I can't think of _any_ of them who are bad enough to be involved with Shego as an agent."

Kim put the stuff she was carrying down next to him and laid her head against his shoulder, relishing the feel and hoping it would clear her head a little. She then saw/felt his face quirk the way it did when something struck him.

"What?" she asked.

Ron took a moment, as if he was finishing the thought before he voiced it—

"You're comment made me wonder just what kind of person would _be_ an 'agent' for Shego. And I thought about what little we know so far but a couple of things struck me. We know that the nurse who did the number on my mom was obtained through organized crime. And now Shego tells us that she had a top-notch burglar from the same source. And while I didn't tell it to anybody, some of the speculation on the net about what happened to Monique also pointed some fingers at the Mob due to some 'fingerprints' that some of Bonita's partners detected when they went snooping around."

Kim had lifted her head up off of Ron's shoulder and she was staring at him with eyes the size of the kitchen plates in front of her when he turned his head to look at her.

"And," he said in a grave and level voice, "we certainly know from all we've heard, just what kind of a person just _might_ be an agent for Shego who would be right inside of Middleton high—"

"And," Kim breathed right back at him as her eyes narrowed down to a dangerous killer look, "someone who would know _everything_ that Bonnie did and had planned for us, because she was a member of Bonnie's posse. And who would, as a Mob Chieftains daughter, have control over several girls, _and_ their parents who just happen to work at the Middleton Space Center, girls whom she inherited when she took over the posse."

Kim's face continued to fold into rage as the inferno again lit between her eyes. She suddenly spun and streaked across the kitchen going for—

"Kim!" Ron called, "what are you doing?"

"I'm going to call my dad! He has to know and they have to round up the parents of the girls in Carla's posse who are responsible for what happened to Felix—"

"You can't!" he blurted.

She froze, the phone half to her ear, shocked to her very core by Ron's words, a look of total disbelief on her face as she round about on him. "Ron! Are you crazy? Felix—"

"Blow the whistle now and Carla and her father are in the wind Kim! We'll never find Drakken if that happens!"

Again Kim froze, emotions too complex to read stampeding across her face. She looked at Ron, looking as lost as a puppy, her desire, her _need_ to act, to save, warring with what he was telling her.

"It hurts Kim," he whispered as a tear ran out of one eye. "He's my best friend after you. But we're talking about the whole world here. And while we're ninety five percent sure, that's not one hundred percent that it's Carla. With what we're dealing with, we need to be absolutely positive before we make a move. Shego's right. We need Wade."

Kim listened, she withdrew, after a moment, her eyes went to the phone receiver in her hand—

And after another moment, she turned and hung it up.

She then turned back and silently came into Ron's arms, taking him into hers, each other taking the other, trying to take some of the pain.

After a timeless period, they came apart and Ron returned to his work. Kim just leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed in front of her, staring at the floor.

Finally Ron had the plate ready. He picked it up and turned to head toward the kitchen exit and down the hall with a half smile at his girlfriend.

But Kim waited for a moment before she came off of the counter with a bounce of her butt. Then, she reached out and took the plate and glass from Ron's hands and said, without looking at him, "I'll take these to Shego Ron. Why don't you go wait up in my room?"

Ron's eyebrows climbed to the top of his forehead. "Ah . . . Kim, it's okay, really—"

Kim didn't raise her head but her eyes snapped upward in her face to spear him through. "I said that I'd do it Ron," and her voice was no-nonsense, about-to-kicked-butt Kim. "You had your turn. Now it's mine. No arguments please. I promise that I will behave. But I have a few things to say to that . . . woman in there and this might be the only chance that I have to do it."

Ron made a face. "I can't hide outside and listen?"

Kim grimaced. "Touché. But that was unintentional. But at the same time, I—I don't want to be . . . inhibited in any way Ron just as you weren't because you didn't know that I was out there. It's not fair I know, but I'm asking you to do this for me my love and I'll never ask you to do anything like it again. I promise."

Ron looked at her with his big brown eyes filled with worry for the longest time. Then he leaned in and softly kissed her on the forehead. "Be careful," he said through his lips as they rested on her skin before he gave a second short soft kiss to her lips which was eagerly received—

He then hobbled out of the kitchen through the door towards her loft.

Kim watched him go, her entire insides filled with love for him. Then she firmly pushed it all back into her heart and squared her shoulders—

"Alright Shego," she growled to herself, prior to turning toward the other kitchen exit, "time for a little no-holds-barred girltalk."


	24. Shego's Story pt3 Kim Girltalk

Kim stopped just short of the door to the guest room and again squared shoulders, both physically and mentally. Now that the moment was here, she was actually more apprehensive about just how nervous she was than anything else. She had been fighting Shego so long on the physical level with only the verbal defiance, parrying and banter that was so much a part of it that the idea of an actual face-to-face, non-physical confrontation between the two of them suddenly bothered her more than she cared to admit. In fact, now that the moment was really here, it bothered her a _lot_!

But there wasn't much that she could do about it. Fate or whatever had chosen that she confront Shego in this way . . . and she was never going to repeat the mistake of crawling into her hole and trying to pull it in after her again.

So Kim stepped into the door holding the plate and glass—

"About damn time," came the growl from across the room.

Shego didn't look as if she had moved an inch; she was still scrunched against the headboard in a position that _had_ to be hurting her neck. But there was no indication of any of that as both hands were suddenly thrust out, accompanied by a gruff, "gimmie!"

Kim stepped up to the bed, almost dropping the glass when it was practically ripped out of her hands—

After that, it was as if she didn't exist as Shego totally focused on the meal in front of her.

So Kim just went over and parked herself in the writing chair, arms and legs crossed, waiting.

To say that Shego wolfed down the meal would be impolite, to the wolf. Her technique would have done a vacuum cleaner proud. _At least she's neat about it_ Kim thought. _Not a crumb spilled._

Plate and glass where put on the end table and Shego resumed her position in bed with eyes closed—

Kim waited.

Shego didn't move.

Kim waited.

"I am not in the mood for this," Shego muttered testily.

Just one tiny corner of Kim's mouth crept up. "Like I care?" she replied sweetly.

Shego grimaced, followed by a tired sigh, followed by an even more tired, "I just got done nearly turning your sidekick into burnt kosher bacon. I don't have the energy nor the inclination to deal with you, Ms. Out-Looking-for-Revenge-For-All-The-Wrongs-This-Terrible-Woman-Has-Done-To-Me. So I am going to roll over and go to sleep, totally ignoring you in the process. You can sit there and stare at me all night long if you want." And with that, Shego, with a groan, rolled herself onto her side, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

Kim watched her with an impassive expression, gauging the moment until it appeared that Shego had finally settled herself into her final comfortable resting position before saying, "fine, because I _do_ intend to sit here all night long if for no other reason than the fact that I know that it's gonna _bug the snot_ outta you."

There was a 'humph' from the form in the bed—

And then stillness.

For . . .

A . . .

While . . .

For . . .

A . . .

Long . . .

While . . .

Kim thought she could just _see_ Shego's muscles tensing under the covers and she began a silent countdown—

Shego's eyes snapped open and if she had been at full power, there would have been an instant hole blown out of that side of the Possible residence as—

"Fine!" Shego snarled as she jerked herself back up and around on the bed, this time settling herself higher on the headboard where she folded her arms and fixed her tired but angry/annoyed glare on the teen before her.

"And I suppose," Shego went on, her tone _dripping_ with sarcasm, "that I should save you the trouble of having you expound out your pain, your trauma, your devastation, the utter misery and total end-of-the-existence-of-your-life-and-self at my hands." And Shego's face folded into a sneer, "you gotta admit princess, you didn't give me a hell of a lot to work with but what you did, damn it was _gold_."

Kim Possible had sat in the chair, unmoving, listening to this—

But as Shego continued to talk, that look slowly metamophed into a solid, unforgiving stone.

"I never realized," Shego continued, now cocking her head to the side thoughtfully, "how much _crap_ that even a 'perfect' person could generate in their lives." Then she snorted. "That was the hard part, separating the what little _real_ stuff there was from all the bull and shit. You would have made it so much easier if you had _had_ that torrid roll in the sack with that kooky prince from that looser country."

But then Shego's smile turned to something . . . evil. "But that's one of the things that made it so easy. I mean, I _know_ that you would never do anything like that in real life. You're just too _perfect_ for that aren't you." The grin got larger as the voice got nastier "Isn't it nice to know Kimmie that I _know_ that everything that stupid Jock from the cheer camp said and wrote was all pure bull and shit."

Kim couldn't help it as her eyes snapped wide and—

But Shego caught it before she could stop herself. The grin turned even more evil as an even more sarcastic, "what?" came out of the older woman's mouth. "Don't tell me there was a single grain of truth in what that mental midget said?" Shego allowed herself a naughty chuckle. "And here I was absolutely convinced that the furthest you would ever go with a boy would be a very, _very_ chaste kiss . . . on hyper-extended lips . . . while standing five feet apart . . . on about the five hundredth date." Shego threw her head back and laughed, then caught herself with a raised finger, "oh, almost forgot, since you always follow your parents rules, especially your dear, dear daddies, it would have to be after you were at least _TWENTY FIVE_!"

Kim, despite her best efforts, felt herself turning as red as her hair, she was starting to grind her molars together as her hands painfully gripped the arms of the chair—

"I don't know," Shego continued to muse, "why your loving daddy hasn't just put you into a convent . . . other than the problem in trying to find a Holy Order whose habits are cut with exposed midriffs." She chuckled again and shook her head. "Almost halfway though your senior year and still a virgin, probably one of the only ones left in your class and probably in just about every way imaginable. Bet you haven't even seen a boy without his clothes on outside of your health sciences textbook." A louder, half-laughing snort. "Probably wouldn't even _dream_ of _intimate contact_ prior to your wedding night. That would be Conduct Unbecoming a Princess!" Another laugh.

Kim could feel her pulse racing, the sound roaring in her ears, her jaw was so tight that her neck felt like a piece of steel rebar—

"After all," Shego continued in the same tone, "You would probably look upon that kind of contact as solely for the purpose of . . . now how did they put it in that one piece I read . . . oh that was it, procreation! And then you would probably only 'do it', exactly once every two years after checking all of the symptoms and indicators to make sure that 'only once' was enough to accomplish your goal."

Another evil laugh. "I know this because a 'perfect princess' like you would have no interest in the _base_ human emotions or feelings such as desire or lust." But then Shego cocked her head back and forth in a singsong voice. "But you are a teenager with all those terrible _hormones_. How would even a princess deal with those?"

Kim had to be the shade of a ripe apple, but she paled as the look on Shego's face changed to one of staring right into her soul.

"You deal with it princess," came the now, rapier tone, "by turning all those raging hormones into physical action. Into fighting. Into fighting ME! And now you can't! How do they feel sitting in your blood princess. Are they tearing you up? Do you want to go out and tear up something?" Then Shego's gaze got even lower. "Or do you want to go out and tear _off_ something."

Kim's mouth was open, she was panting.

"Do you enjoy teasing him?" Shego asked her, with a coy look.

Kim 'blinked', suddenly adrift, suddenly—

"I mean," and now Shego had a 'knowing' look on her face, "that that's all you do is tease him, nothing more. But the crop tops, the tight jeans, even that tight little mission shirt of yours. Just _why_ is that cut as a midriff anyway? It must be to drive him crazy." And now a leer, "and you must love it (another chuckle). That shows like any other high school princess, you have a cruel streak a yard wide."

Kim's face, despite her anger, was screwing around in total confusion. In response, Shego's 'registered' surprise. "Oh, did I lose you there? How could you not know that I was talking about your dear little boyfriend Ronnie?"

Kim didn't know how it was possible to both blush deep wine and rear her head back in shock and consternation at the same time, feeling her grip on her focus, her sense of purpose starting to slip—

"I did lose you," Shego went on, now sounding sooo sympathetic. Clicking her tongue, she shook her head. "I don't know _how_ I could have done that. I thought the two concepts were so closely tied. Cause," and now Shego's tone went to nasty, lewd sneer, "that's the _other_ way you take out all those pent up hormones I'll bet. By making your poor Ronald Stoppable's life a veritable hell for his raging hormones."

Kim felt herself start to come up out of the chair, visions and memories of what she had done to Ron in just this subject and his steadfast commitment to his promise thundering through her mind. But she barely managing to stop herself—

But Shego didn't even slow down. "I'll bet you've had him lapping at you like a puppy and you string him out until he's about to lose control, like any normal red-blooded teenage boy would when dealing with a tart like you, and then you kick him, figuratively of course, " in a suddenly sweet voice," back into the corner. After all, YOU'RE the one in control, the one who has what he wants and you would never allow yourself to lower yourself to the base level that 'the others', excuse me, I mean, the level that normal teens live at."

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR TALKING ABOUT!!!" and it was out of the teen's mouth before that mouth engaged with the brain. Kim also had no memory of coming out of the chair with her hands balled into fists, ready to beat Shego black, helpless or not.

Shego's head came back in reaction, a hand coming to her chest as if to say 'who me?'. Shego blinked a couple of times rather theatrically, then said in a low voice, "I think you're misunderstanding me again. I'm not passing any judgment on you Kimmie, I'm merely making . . . what could be said to be . . . deeply held personal observations based on my own experience."

Kim stood there seething. "I don't need your observations!"

And Kim then forced herself further upright, her anger surging further as Shego exploded into great peals of laughter.

And what made the flame-haired teen even more furious, as well as apprehensive, was that she could tell that the laughter was genuine. So it was all she could do to wait, gritting her teeth, for it to end.

"I really DO feel sorry for you," Shego managed at last. "You have no idea . . . oh my – that made my ribs hurt – just how much I do understand." Then Shego gave Kim a piercing state. "Remember, I'm the bitch that made it her job to waste your very existence by an attack on who and what _you_ are?" Another little chuckle that turned evil at the end when she added, "in that how many months, I've gotten to know you better than you know you."

Now Shego leaned back with a smug smile. "And you know what princess? It's downright scary when you get right down to the guts of it just how much alike the two of us are."

Kim's mouth came open to shriek a 'WHAT', but she managed to clamp down on it at the very last second.

But Shego only raised a knowing eyebrow. "Oh yes princess, we are very much alike. But alas, there are differences as well," she added with a sigh.

Kim stood in open-mouthed shock as if that was an invitation for Shego to continue.

"It's like what I was just telling you about," Shego said sadly. "How you repress all those healthy hormones and impulses, thinking it's for your own good moral standing and pure righteous being. While I—" and now she gave a leer of pure decadence, "at every opportunity, take a weekend, or my vacation at some exotic spot where I can wallow in the 'joys of the flesh' with some nameless, gorgeous hunk!" Shego came forward in the bed in order to prop an elbow on the cover, allowing her to rest her chin on her fist as she gave Kim her best, 'predatory lioness' look as she purred in a seductive voice, "I make sure I come up with a new, complete and different fantasy each and every time." She giggled before finishing with, "and after all this time, I've having to get _quite_ creative in them."

Kim couldn't help it as she felt herself blushing anew. She'd totally lost her focus and was desperately clinging to her center as she flailed about inside trying to find something . . . anything . . . to get her feet planted again.

Shego was giving her a questioning look. "Do you even allow yourself fantasy's Kimmie? If you do, you don't even put them in your diary."

THAT hit Kim like a brick wall as the realization about all that Shego had done meshed with the info on the computer hacking—

"My—my diar—" and Kim managed as one hand came up in shock before her face.

"You need some good dirty, erotic fantasies Kimmie. Might take the edge off some of the frustration that's alllllll over that diary of yours."

And Kim was RIGHT THERE, leaning in across the end of the bed, her face RIGHT INTO Shego's yelling, "You DONT tell me what to do! You get OUT of my head! I am NOTHING like you!"

Shego just smiled and said, "oh, you are sooo wrong. We are soo much alike. And it's up to me to show you that. Because I KNOW that I am in you somewhere and that I'm just _begging_ to be let out. Just like I know you have fantasies, you just wont admit it. And I'll just have to help you with THAT as well—"

And Kim goggled as Shego grabbed her head with both her hands and—

Kim's mind LOCKED as she felt Shego's lips painfully mash into hers—

Kim's whole body SCREAMED as she felt Shego force her tongue into her mouth—

Like a mindless animal trying to get away from a pain source, Kim JERKED her body away and around, bodily carrying herself away from the bed, slamming painfully into the wall by the door, collapsing into a puddle at its base as nausea almost conquered her.

Her head had hit the wall which has caused her vision to darken and spots were still swirling around as things started to brighten. It still felt as if her stomach could go at any moment. She'd lost all focus, all center.

Kim was _scared_!

"Was that as good for you as it was for me princess?"

Kim felt her insides go cold.

"Wasn't that the fulfillment of a long time fantasy for the both of us?"

And then turn hot as the fire of anger and hate were re-ignited.

"If you want to come back on up here, this is a big bed and we could have a _real good _time."

Kim found her center, got her mental feet under her and _focused_! In moments, her stomach subsided to something she could manage, her head cleared to the point where the lighting in the room returned to normal—

Kim pushed herself up against the wall, mindful of just how unsteady her legs were. She turned her head around to see Shego leering at her from the bed—

And Kim snorted. "Why would I want that kind of fantasy when you've never been able to give me any other kind? Like a really decent fight."

The leer dropped from Shego's face like a rock and lightning flashed behind those eyes, "I've kicked your butt—"

"And who, by your own admonition, has always won in the end," Kim shot back. "And _I_ kicked _your_ butt decisively if you recall, not once but twice at Bueno Nacho Headquarters."

"Your stupid battlesuit," was the surly reply.

"Okay," Kim nodded with a 'reasonable' tone. "Then why in almost all the other times, you, the big hot-shot, professional mercenary with the fancy plasma powers, hasn't been able to get the better of a high school cheerleader, even given you penchant for cheating?"

Shego looked away, "you've just been lucky."

Kim nodded in agreement. "A couple of times yes, but the rest of the time I suspect that it was just your inane laziness that lets me get away."

Now the lightning bolts came out of Shego's eyes as her head snapped back in the direction of the teen. "Watch your mouth," she said slowly.

"Oh like I really should after you've had your little fun," Kim said in a low-voiced snarl. "Does the truth hurt Shego? Does knowing that I know that the only reason that you are where you are is because you are nothing but a lazy, good-for-nothing hedonist who found the easiest boss to work for, one who could be manipulated and bullied, one to whom you could so easily display your own sense and _need_ of 'superiority' without fear of censure—"

"SILENCE!" Shego roared coming all the way up onto her knees in the bed, the covers falling away askew.

Kim smiled angrily. "Is that truth hurting Shego? You could be working for Dementor. You could be working for someone else, someone who before what's happening now, was truly dangerous and could succeed with their plans if they put their mind to it. But they would _demand_ discipline and results from you, not allowing you to be lounging around all the time under a sunlamp or spending all day filing the claws on your gloves."

"Oh yeah," snarled Shego, "well miss 'perfect', aren't you just the 'perfect' example of what happens when I buckle down, get disciplined and work at succeed at something. Like destroying you!"

Kim shook her head sadly. "Yeah, it only took Drakken going off the deep end and scaring you colorless to get it to happen."

Shego started to open her mouth to make an angry retort—

And had to close it again.

Kim shook her head. "You don't live Shego. You hang around and bitch and read magazines and exercise and eat dainties and bait Drakken and train and sleep and go off chasing your fantasy hunks. You exist. You've been nowhere and your going nowhere."

Kim folded her arms, now looking at Shego almost sadly. "Ron . . . told me (she fibbed, not wanting Shego to know she had eavesdropped on that conversation) that you said that you almost had . . . friends . . . among your team—"

"Don't Possible," growled the suddenly deadly Shego, lowering herself to a position to leap off the bed, exhaustion or not. "Don't go there, not another word."

Two sets of green eyes were locked in an deadly embrace, neither quivering, giving any quarter.

Kim pushed herself away from the wall, her queasy legs and stomach forgotten; and once again came right into Shego's face, right into that deadly expression, and in a tone full of vengeance and righteousness, "does it hurt Shego? I hope it hurts like hell! I'm sorry for them, but I'm not sorry for you. You can't feel enough pain as far as I'm concerned. And while I hope it was quick for them, I hope it takes forever for you—"

And like a snake, one of Shego's hands, blindingly fast, struck out and smacked Kim HARD across the mouth.

The teen rocked back, instantly tasting blood, feeling the injury in her neck tweak again—

Her butt hit the floor and Kim fell partially onto her side but managed to catch herself on her forearms. She paused a moment, taking stock, gathering—

Kim then looked up at the furious figure looming over her from the edge of the bed and she cracked a bloody smile. "Good. It's really hurting isn't it." Kim almost chuckled. After a long moment, Kim managed to get her feet under her, thrusting up onto them with a lurch. She almost fell back into the wall and had to steady herself with one arm as the other hand held her split lip—

But Kim's eyes never left Shego.

"It will continue to hurt," Kim said in a cold, pitiless voice. "And you will never be able to forgive yourself. Because if you haven't already, you will come to realize, that in the end; they, your workers, your associates, your _friends,_"

"SHUT UP YOU BITCH!" screamed Shego, upright on her knees with balled fists—

"They died for _nothing_ Shego! NOTHING! Like every other thing you've ever been involved in. Like every other scheme or plan that Drakken has ever tried. It all came to nothing in the end."

Shego was shaking so hard that it looked as if her skin was crawling. Her eyes were so aflame that they could almost make a plasma bolt of their own. Her voice was choked, barely understandable, but she managed, "this plan may not turn out to be nothing in the end."

Kim, still dabbing at her lip, nodded and answered, managing to keep her tone and look cold, "and you were so frightened of it that you came running to Team Possible to save the world from it."

Shego looked as if she had been physically 'slapped'. She turned puce and it looked as if she was going to tear every muscle in both her arms and shoulders as she strained—

The tiniest green glow came to her fingertips—

Then her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she started to loll around, started to tumble forward—

Kim stepped in and pushed Shego hard in the chest with both hands, not caring to be gentle in the slightest, knocking Shego back into the bed.

Shego collapsed like a sack of potatoes, emitting an agonized moan.

Kim, coming into the side of the bed, pushing Shego over onto her back, roughly grabbing her chin and bringing her face around so that Kim could see—

Minutes passed. But then Shego's eyes blinked and cleared—

And filed with a mixture of rage and agony.

"Feel the pain Shego," Kim hissed. "I'm certainly enjoying the fact that after all your work, after all your labor to make _me_ the 'perfect' example of your work at producing trauma, devastation, utter misery and the total end existence of life and self, that not only did I survive, but you came _running_ to me, not only to save the world, but to save your own cowardly green hide from the Couple in Black—"

Like a snake, one of Shego's hands, blindingly fast, struck out and—

And Kim, with instantaneous reactions, caught it just short of her jaw, locked it into her palm and turned and twisted—

"AARRGGGGG!" cried out Shego for she was not in a position where she could, in her condition, easily roll out of the wristlock and Kim was cranking it on HARD! Her other hand tried to reach up to pry Kim's off, to rake it with her nails. But with any movement, any attempt, Kim would crank it on even harder!

"UUUURRRRRMMMMMMM!" Shego grated as tears streamed from her eyes.

"Mental pain, physical pain!" Kim growled with a voice as cold as ice and yet as hot as hell. "Is there pain in you soul Shego? Your workers, your friends? Drakken? Your own precious self and your self-serving, self-centered selfish ego grubbing mentality that made us play games trying to guess who your contact was inside of our high school. I want you to feel pain in ALL of it Shego!"

And Kim, her face rapidly becoming a mask that matched her voice, was cranking it on even harder still.

"YOUR BREAKING IT!" Shego screamed.

"You BROKE _ME_!" Kim shouted back.

Shego strained as she was turning white, her voice falling into a gurgle, "you didn't break. You'd be dead if you had broken. You'd of killed yourself if you had truly broken."

Kim's eyes went wide and she paled—

She released Shego's hand and stepped back—

She stumbled back into the chest of drawers and almost fell, having to reach back behind her with both arms to steady herself.

Shego had curled up around her tortured arm. And there were still tears of pain in her eyes and her voice. "That's one thing that I hate about you. You can be beaten, knocked out, tied up, wrapped in chains, locked in a cage, thrown in a pool with sharks inside a locked room in a building that's about to self destruct; and it doesn't even seem to slow you down. It doesn't even seem to make you scared, fearful that it will happen again or hesitant that something even worse could happen the next time."

Shego then uncurled her head and looked at Kim with eyes that held both wonder and disgust. "And wither you want to admit it or not, this is an area where we are alike. Absolutely fearless of any physical challenge or task and absolutely self confident in ourselves and our abilities." Now Shego shook her head. "But I have a reason to feel and be that way. You don't. Despite is all, physically, you _are_ just a normal human girl. Superbly trained and conditioned yes; with incredible speed and reaction time but you're still only human! Why aren't you scared? Why aren't you afraid of death?"

Shego managed to come out of her shell and push her head up a little. The anger in her voice was now plain, but so was the demand for an explanation. "You didn't break! You fell to the bottom of the pit, wallowed in your own mud and crap, crashed and burned your ego and pride went into the toilet and, for you, what was the worst sin possible for you, you gave up—"

Kim's face was again as red as her hair as she barely managed to sputter, "h—h—how could you possibly know all this? How—"

Shego threw off one of her hands. "With your nerd friend out of the picture, it was easy to bug you up your butt. Your friend Wade might have had the whole world wired, but for the last couple of months, I've had Kim Possible wired for sound. I could hear every word you whispered—. There's a bug in everything from the straps on your backpack to one tucked just inside the neckline of that stuffed . . . thing you cuddle with so hard as you cried your poor little heart out into it."

Kim's hand came up to just before her mouth as the shock rocked through her. A sense of sickening violation followed as her legs grew weak.

"But it didn't matter," Shego continued blithely on. "You were damaged, maybe even beyond repair, I don't know. But you weren't broken. Cause if you had truly broken, if that damnable spirit of yours had truly shattered, what would have happened?"

The hand that Kim was still holding before her bruised and swelling lips was now trembling. She didn't want to listen, didn't want to consider what Shego had said . . . but—

"I—I—" and Kim shook her head violently. "No. NO! I rejected that!"

Shego nodded grimly. "You'd of killed yourself if you had truly broken. You'd of had nothing to live for if your spirit had shattered. That goddamn spirit, that keeps you going despite all the odds, trials and tribulations. I don't have a clue what you had there that made you hang on." The look of incredulous disbelief returned. "Why didn't you break? What saved you?"

Kim looked at Shego, and suddenly she didn't see her. For her mind went . . . elsewhere. It fell back to that time, that time when she was lost, when there was just that tiny little flame that had burned inside of her.

Kim had never thought, never considered. What had kept that flame going?

She closed her eyes and concentrated, heedless of the fact that she was alone and potentially vulnerable in Shego's presence.

Yes, she had come close. Her battle with the darkness in the tree house after she thought she had lost Ron, that had been, in fact the closest she had come to . . . being broken—

And the irony of it all was that hadn't even been directly from Shego but from Ron's mom under the influence of Shego's minion, that mafia nurse. The cold of that night had almost done her in—

But despite herself, despite the fact that she had fought against it, both mentally and physically, Ron had taken her to himself, despite his awful injuries, in his hospital bed—

And he had given her warmth . . . and had brought the almost dead little flame reluctantly back to life.

So Ron had been responsible for that—

But she then wondered, what had saved the little flame when she had given up 'herself' and everything she had been?

_I only remember two things in me,_ Kim remembered after a moment's concentration. _The little flame and . . . and that . . . black hole that was my feelings for Ron that I was trying so hard to deny them, was working so hard to bury them_. And the guilt that welled up at the memory of how hard she had tried to shut out the boy she loved caused her to think about it from a different perspective and with that, a light flared within her—

Shego saw a smile slowly come over Kim's face. One that reached her eyes and literally lit her whole face. Its brilliance startled the raven-haired woman as did the sudden unexpectedness of it. _She's almost glowing_, Shego gapped in disbelief.

"What got into you?" Shego growled.

Kim's eyes focused on the woman in the bed and in a voice suddenly warm and fuzzy, she replied, "I just realized that the answer to your question was the fact that a little flame that I had was in fact locked up securely for protection inside of a black hole deep, that belongs to a very special young man."

Shego could only blink in confusion. "That makes noooo sense."

But Kim's smile turned triumphant. "And until just now, it didn't to me either. But it's there and I realize that it always was and that it will always be. And it's the reason why you didn't break me Shego and you never will as long as I have it. I almost was lost when I thought I had lost it, but as long as I have it, I will never lose."

Shego's eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the cryptic words.

Kim now came away from the chest. "And I will agree with you statement about us being alike as far as our abilities and skills with tasks and challenges. I still laugh sometimes at the memory when we were stuck in the cable TV from the Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer and we were on Fright Fraction and the host asked us if we were afraid before we bungee jumped off the top of that 90 story building." Kim shook her head and then added pointedly, "you really didn't have to take him with you thou."

Shego had to search her memory a moment, but then a genuine grin showed that she too remembered the incident.

But now Kim's face turned hard and threatening. "But I will take very strong exception with what you said earlier about us being alike. There is nothing like you in me that is trying to 'get out'."

And an equally hard look slammed down on Shego's features. "Oh yeah, I know, little miss Kimmie, the 'perfect princess' that doesn't have any dirty fantasy's or a mean, rotten bone in her body." Shego made a motion as if she was spitting at Kim's feet before spitting with her tone, "bullshit! You're the one who keeps harping on what a regular, normal little girl you are and you refuse to admit just how much bullshit that is as well."

Kim stalked up to the edge of the bed and shoved her face down toward— "Listen Shego—"

Shego thrust a finger up into the redheads face. "No, you listen! Think about the fact that not too long ago, you went 'crazy' and trashed a good part of the area around Middleton General Hospital. Good temper control there girl. And ya know, that time when you lied in order to go to that Halloween party with that hottie boyfriend that you had back then. I thought that there might actually be hope that you really _were_ a 'normal' teenage girl. Let your temper get the better of you then as well by the way that freaky suit almost took you over."

Shego then gave a nasty smile. "I'm in there Possible. Deep, deep inside maybe. Under that same iron control that you use on your nerves. But I'm—"

Kim firmly moved her head in a slow, negative shake. "No Shego. No matter how much you try, how much you blather and babble it. I know different. In some ways we are alike. But in others, in the important ones, we're not even close."

Shego barked a harsh laugh into Kim's face. "Important? Define important. It changes moment by moment, situation by situation."

Kim actually chuckled. "That's another area where we differ Shego. Our belief on the world, what it means and what affects it and what our place in it is."

Shego sneered. "And just what is all that crap suppose to mean?"

And Shego recoiled and Kim's face was THERE, right in hers—

But the voice was controlled, angry yes, but the fury was chained, the rage was reined in—

Because if the temper was lost, Shego would not survive.

"Because like I said before, you're a loser Shego. And not just from what happened at the island or from your relationship with Drakken. You are a shiftless, lazy, pathetically underachieving leech. And that not only applies to your work but your personal life. It took you to being forced to become disciplined and focused on a task which required you to work with a team for you to even discover what it meant to be a part of a group and to start to learn how to interact and become involved with them. Why is that Shego? Was it because you were just too lazy before or where you scared? Or were you just too self-absorbed? Good God woman! What you said to me, broken down, basically meant that the only time you ever had any voluntary social contact with anybody outside of Drakken's lair was when you were screwing some nameless stranger for purely sexual satisfaction."

Kim leaned back up, placing her hands on her hips. "So you have two callings in life. Lone wolf mercenary and slut."

Shego's eyes erupted with bolts. "Don't you dare call me that you holier than thou prude."

Kim snorted. "And don't you call me a prude. Although you may not believe it, there are parts of my body that are not 'virgin'. I am a very 'adventurous' girl after all. But that ONE part that most definitely still is, is right now reserved for that ONE boy and we're waiting by HIS request please and thank you. And in the meantime miss-worldly-know-it-all, that gives me plenty of time for some really interesting fantasies. I don't put them in the diary on my computer after I had a little problem with Wade taking a peek at it. They go in a special little diary that I keep all to myself." Her face hardened further. "And it may please you to know that you feature proximately in several of them. But it may not please you to know that in no case do any of my fantasies involving you involve anything other than things like standing you up against a wall and shooting you, slowly, repeatedly, in several interesting body parts; or lowering you slowly by your tied wrists into a pit of very hungry lions." Kim snorted and shook her head. "There will never be any other girls allowed in the 'dirty erotic' fantasies."

The anger still flashed in Shego's eyes but disgust and malice where there now as well. "Yeah? I'll bet. Even if all of that is true Possible, it only goes to show just how square you really are. While the fact of the matter is that I'd as soon as crawl into bed with a cobra than with you in real life. But at least I'm willing to stretch my imagination, to have a _real_ fantasy about something that I know will never happen. And you know what? In them, sometimes, after I've screwed your brains out and let you do the same to me, I even let you live. But only sometimes."

Kim cocked her head sideways, biting her lower lip as she crossed her arms. She considered Shego like this for a long moment. Long enough for Shego to become uncomfortable with it and whine, "what?"

"Interesting statement there Shego," Kim mused. "If that's the way you really feel, just what was that little moment of spontaneity we shared a little while back hum?"

Shego's jaw dropped and her eyes immediately diverted.

Kim's voice was now really angry. "Let me guess. That was a purely psychological attack meant to throw me off balance, leaving me startled, bewildered, sickened, unable to think clearly—"

Shego, looking like a trapped animal—

Kim snapped out a hand and grabbed Shego by the hair on top of her head. Kim twisted it and Shego's head around—

"Arrrggg," Shego started to cry out—

"What was it Shego?"

"Alright," the woman yelled through the pain. "It worked didn't it."

"If you ever," Kim vowed in a tone that conveyed exactly what she meant, "do that to me again, I will hurt you very, very badly." And she threw Shego's head down into the mattress.

After a moment, despite the fact that she was panting from the pain, Shego managed to snap out, "well, well, aren't we the bitch all of a sudden. There just might be hope for you after all princess."

"Don't get your hopes up Shego," came the disgusted reply. "I'm angry now. But I wont let you push me into doing something outside of my standards again."

Shego rolled her eyes, accompanied by an angry snort. "Oh pplleeaasssseeeeee princes. Spare me the upstanding, scrupulous, righteousness. Of any part of you, that sickens me the most. You're whole families been that way. Your techno-nerd dad with his 'anything is possible for a Possible' BS while being clueless to the reality of life outside of his office. You, with your 'I can do anything' smart-ass attitude warring with the 'just a normal girl' fake humility. What a put on! Your mom—" and Shego suddenly stopped, mouth open for a long moment, eyes flashing through a whole host of emotions too fast of Kim to read—

But in the forefront of them all and the only consistent one was fear.

"We won't talk about her," Shego finished in a sudden sullen tone that moments later changed back into a nasty rant. "But she's got to be where you got your oh-so-superior, so-super-sure-of-yourself, total-belief-in-what-your-doing CRAP." Shego flashed an angry look at Kim. "There have been times that you've made me sick with that goody-goody attitude. And what's really nauseating is the way you really believe in it. One of these days girl, the reality of the world is gonna slap you upside the head so hard that your gonna think that your head was a ping-pong ball. Get real Kim Possible. The world is bad and evil, people are mean and nasty and greedy, even the 'good' ones if things go to shit on them, and in the end, only the strong and the most vicious are going to survive."

Kim moved back against the chest of drawers again, crossing her arms in front of her, looking at Shego with an angry gaze. "Just like you survive Shego? Just like you have been since I first encountered you? When you weren't hightailing it out the door of the lair or warehouse or whatever before it was about to blow? It was either that or you were trapped in the wreckage or being led off in arm restraints by the authorities." Kim shook her head as if in disbelief. "It's like I've been saying. You exist. Nothing more. You—"

"WILL YOU SHUT UP ABOUT THAT!" Shego roared as she again came up off of the bed to her knees, only to collapse almost immediately back down onto her forearms on the very edge of the bed.

Shego was almost panting. It took a moment for her to find the breath to speak, and when she did, her voice was like a dull power saw chewing its way threw soft metal. "You think you're so smart, you think you know so much. Well you haven't lived my life, you haven't done what I've done, you haven't been where I've been, seen what I've seen, and you've certainly haven't done what I've done. You're a KID Possible. A wet-behind-the-ears teen human. PAIN! You think I caused you pain? You know NOTHING about pain. And you want to know something else. Let me let you in on a little secret. Let me tell you something really special. What I did to you, all that work, all that research, all that coordination and direction and DICIPINE that I devoted to your destruction? I did it because it was my JOB! Because it was the assignment given to me by the man who employs me."

Kim stood there, her face frozen in a look that could not be read as Shego managed to push herself painfully into a sitting position. The lighting in Shego's eyes had turned into an arc of pure fury, her face had settled into a mask of rage and . . . and something that Kim couldn't quite put her finger on.

"I will admit," Shego continued, now with a tone of barely controlled wrath, "that yes; I more than enjoyed our games together, our arguments, our slashing comments and putdowns. And I will also admit that to my initial surprise and after that, often annoyance, that you, a regular human girl, could equal me in personal combat to the degree where it became more than a game, it became a challenge." But Shego's face hardened further still. "But other than my chew toy, that's all you ever where. Yes, I had some giggles and guffaws when I started to dig up the dirt on you . . . but after that . . . it got to be—" and Shego just stopped talking as if the rage was taking over—

But Kim was . . . staring at her. That . . . look/feeling/undercurrent that was running all though Shego under the anger and rage. Kim could almost . . . almost . . . put her finger on it.

Then Shego's eyes came up and the two sets of emerald eyes again met and the arc of lightning and the well of fire flowed between them—

"You're jealous," Kim whispered.

Shego's eyes widened just enough to be perceptible. Then her whole face slammed down in a solid mask of rigid control. "Get out," croaked her voice, equally under almost inhuman control.

Kim's arms had dropped to her sides as she gazed at the woman in wonder and disbelief. "All that 'digging' into my life and background—"

"Get out"

"And you did my family as well because of the problems that my dad had with the congressional committee and my mom with those phony hospital patients"

"I said get out!"

"You saw who we are, what we are—"

"I'M WARNING YOU—"

"And it made you jealous—"

Like a snake, one of Shego's hands, blindingly fast, struck out and despite it all, the hand glowed and even as a wrenching cry of agony erupted from the raven-haired woman's throat, a small ball of plasma managed to 'fire'—

Kim just jerked her head and shoulders out of the way as if they had never been there—

In the back of her mind, there was a wince as she thought about what her mom would have to say about the smoking hole in the wall.

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Shego didn't have a clue how long she was out. When she did manage to come to some level of consciousness, she felt as if she was a ghost separated from her body. It was a weird, disconcerting feeling that did nothing for her mood—

The fact that moments after she managed to open her eyes that a blurry figure with a lion's mane of red hair came into her field of vision did nothing for the rest of it.

"Are you coherent?" came the teens voice to her ears.

Shego hoped that nothing would function and that the bad dream would just go away (it somehow never occurred to her to just ignore Possible) but unfortunately the vocal cords worked. "Drop dead."

The blurry figure crossed its arms. "I'll take that as a 'yes' than. I can also assume that you knew who, what, where etc, etc?"

"What do you want? Shego groaned. "You here just to gloat?"

With that, the figure suddenly leaned in over Shego and she felt a moment of vertigo disorientation as things were still too detached and spinning around for both her inner ears and stomachs good.

What was even worse, was at the close range . . . she could actually see Kim's face—

And Shego, in her state, could not understand what it was she was seeing.

"No Shego," Kim said in a soft but firm voice. "I'm not here to gloat. But I wanted to wait until you were awake and coherent because I have a few very pointed things to say to you. And being that at this moment, you can do nothing else but listen, I'm hoping that you will take what I have to say very seriously because I can't be more serious."

Kim then took a deep breath before continuing. "And one reason that I say it that way, is that one of my problems is that I have no way of knowing of just what of anything you've said this evening, if any of it is the truth, if all of it is lies, if the 'truth' in fact lies somewhere in between. You yourself said earlier when we were talking with Ron here that you would lie through your teeth under certain circumstances. And I've caught you in at least one major lie so far and I suspect a couple of others."

Kim shook her head as if unsure. "But some things you said, despite the anger, had the ring of truth to them. But you're evil Shego, they would ring true because lying is natural to you. So I don't know if I can even trust those."

"And there," and now there was a sad tone to Kim's voice. "There lies the problem Shego. You're evil. By your own admission, vocation, choice and desire. You want to be, you try to be, you like to be."

"Your brother Hego—"

"Don't—" started Shego despite her complete, ultimate depletion.

"Shut up!" Kim snapped right back into her face. "I am going to talk, you are going to listen. If for nothing else, since I can't beat you to the pulp that I want to, you're damn well going to listen to _everything_ I have to say to you."

Shego found that she couldn't even make a spark in her eyes. She felt her barriers start to crack, knowing that she had no defense against what was coming.

"Hego said that you were attracted to evil. You 'liked' it. Now I only know a little about you and your brother's origins from what he told me. But considering the little time that Ron and I were with them, we could both see . . . how difficult it would be for someone with your personality to stay in that environment. But I had some difficulty understanding the evil. The 'why' of it."

"Then we have the other things I've already mentioned. Shall I do a recap? Your inane laziness, your good-for-nothing hedonist style with an easy boss who could be manipulated and bullied so you could easily display your own sense and need of superiority. As I said Shego and I meant every word of it, you don't live, you exist. You've been nowhere and your going nowhere. And everything you've ever been involved in has come to nothing. You have a precious self-serving, self-centered selfish ego grubbing mentality that's only about Shego—"

"That's not true!" Shego managed to squeak.

"Then you do Goddamn little to prove otherwise. When did you even suspect that Drakken was over the deep end and that his plan just _might_ be more than his run-of-the-mill take-over-the-world plot? I would bet that it was way well before you left to go to deliver his moms 'birthday' card and you can't tell me that if you wanted to, you couldn't have blown the whistle or done _something_ about it long before you did."

Shego felt the tears coming from her eyes and she twisted her head to the side so she didn't have to look on her tormentor. "Y—yo—you don't understand."

"You're right! That I don't understand. I would hope that it was loyalty to the person that Drakken use to be but by God woman, if that was the case, did it blind you that much?"

"I—I"

"Or are you even capable of loyalty?" Kim asked. "You keep harping on what a big-time professional mercenary you are and it's always been my understanding that they're only loyal to the money their being paid. Is that how it is and was with you?"

"I—you—"

"As I said Shego, you're a loser, a shiftless, lazy, pathetically underachieving looser. And after all that, I finally understand why you were attracted to evil."

There was a long moment of silence, and Shego, almost against her will, was forced to turn her head and once again look up at the girl, no, the young woman, who was standing over her, stripping her bare before her own eyes.

The look on Kim's face was brutal. No quarter or mercy, but no triumph either.

"Evil. Thrills, excitement, danger, the ability to live outside of societies rule. It allows you to life in the way where you don't live, you just exist. You can be lazy and shiftless and irresponsible, not giving a hoot about anything other than yourself. It also means that you can thumb your nose at law and the rules and societies ideas of behavior and morality which allows you to act as an amoral witch to everybody you encounter or gives you the opportunity to be outside of 'common decency' and think up and actually live and play out outlandish fantasy's with strangers with absolutely no guilt or sense of social responsibility. It allows you to cheat, steal, lie, kidnap, _murder_, even people who are captured and thereby helpless, and again, relieves you of both the guilt and responsibility. Hego understood that with great power came great responsibility. And you hated the way he kept pushing that—"

"He was a fucking broken record—" and Shego even managed the energy to make it almost a snarl.

"It's something that anybody who exercises the kind of power that hero's does has to be repeating in their minds every second of every day."

And Shego managed one last snarl. "And I suppose that you do it twice a second 'hero' just because you're so much better than everybody else."

Kim shook her head sadly. "I don't consider myself a hero Shego. I'm just a regular girl who tries to help people in any way she can, always doing my best I can when I do so. People may call me a hero, but I've got talents, abilities and the genes that others don't that give me the edge to get the job done. The hero's are the police and fire and military and others who don't have my advantages or the ones like your brothers, who have the super extraordinary powers and accept the risks, and more importantly, the awesome responsibilities that come with them. _Their_ heroes, not me. Them; and a certain blond-haired boy that stays by my side through thick and thin even though he's scared to death, doesn't have my advantages and only has a funny 'factor' that keeps him safe. He's _my_ hero."

Shego actually _stared_ at Possible because . . . it was impossible not to believe that she was being completely sincere.

Kim's face turned hard again. "Somewhere, somehow, something happened Shego, that made you stop living. Yes, you get all the thrills and spills, action and danger, all the hot-blooded young studs and fine food and perks, and you don't have restricting boundaries, work or school days, assignment or backlog deadlines and you have no responsibilities."

Then Kim's voice got very quiet. "But you don't have the other side of the coin either, the side that makes all that worthwhile—"

"Don't say it," and the words came out of Shego's mouth as if she was pleading.

"And that's why you're jealous. Because your study of me . . . and my family . . . got you realizing what it was you were missing it, and your barriers came down . . . and you started to make friends among your workers—"

"Don't damn you! Don't!"

"Companionship, friendship, family, love?"

A wail escaped Shego's mouth and she rolled all the way over away from Kim.

It was cut off almost immediately. Several almost animal-like pants followed before a muffled voice tore out, "if you thought I hated you before Possible—"

Kim leaned down and said in a penetrating whisper, "that's too bad Shego. Cause what has happened here has totally changed my mind about something. As completely as anything has ever been changed. For now, I will completely agree with you in the fact that the two of us are so much alike. Which therefore raises an interesting question. Are you then, by hating me, hating yourself? Or could it be that your hating what you once were or what you think that you could have been?"

"Please shut up!" Shego begged. She would of whirled back around and struck out at her tormentor if she had had the energy. But between the wrenching emotion and the horrible draining of her body, she was starting to fade. She barely managed, "don't mock me—"

"I'm not," came the reply with absolute sincerity. "In thinking about it, I've realized that, if I was to turn to evil while at the same time, giving up my dedication to duty, honor and responsibility and casting off my moral compass, there's no doubt in my mind that I would be exactly like you . . . minus the plasma powers of course."

Shego's breathing stilled. After a long moment, came a muffled, "why are you telling me this. Some cheap attempt at something like, if I changed back to the 'good side', I could be just like Kim Possible?"

"No Shego, just an explanation for something I'm about to say to you."

Another pause. "What's that?"

"You said you hated me Shego. Well, that's okay. I hate you. but there's a difference."

Another . . . longer pause. "Okay, what is it?"

"My parents were very strict in raising me to respect everyone, to understand that everyone was different in ways both seen and unseen. I was taught never to prejudge or judge on rumor or speculation or anything that wasn't personal knowledge and that everyone deserved a second and possibly a third chance."

"Is this going somewhere?" came the fading question"

"It was also drummed into me, never to boast or brag about who or what I was, how I was better than others. Well, at this point, just this once, I'm going to break that rule. I am special. I save the world. And I save it repeatedly from people like you. Your EVIL Shego, you steal, hurt, kill, want to enslave people, and I stop you. I always have and I always will."

Kim then took a deep breath. "But at the same time, it seems that we're two sides of the same coin in many ways. But you're damaged Shego, I'm not. Whatever it was that happened to you made you evil. If it happened to me . . . well, who knows. But the fact of the matter is that I hate you Shego. I hate who you are, I hate what you are, I hate how you do it and why you do it."

There was a sudden catch in Kim's voice that made her stop. When she started again, her voice was very low. "The difference is Shego, like I said, I hate the who, the what, the how you are and the why you are. But I want you to know, for my sake _I_ need to let you know, that I don't hate Shego, the person that I know is buried underneath all if it. Because I know that there has to be a reason that made her the way she is, that made her evil, because she wasn't always that way."

"I hate evil Shego, and I will always fight it and you as long as it fills you. And if the opportunity arises, I'm still going to beat you black for what you did to me, Ron, my family, Monique, and Felix. But right now, I've won, because you're secret is out. I don't know the roots behind it, but as you know me, I now know you. And I will use it as a weapon in any way I need to in the future to get some of mine back as well as to beat the evil out of you Shego—"

"And remember, I always win. You said so yourself."

And with that, Kim Possible left the room, leaving a puce skinned, raven-haired woman curled up on the bed in silent sobs of rage, defeat and despair, lasting only the length of time for the woman to slip finally into the folds of healing darkness.


	25. ActsConversationsRefectionsDecisions

A/N: Have been on my 'short' vacation which allowed me to get in several months worth of my backlogged reading of everybody else's stories, then rip this piece out before returning my nose to the grindstone.

I want to take a moment to thank everyone who has been reading this, whither or not they take the time to review it. But I especially want to take the time to thank those who have constantly been reviewing as in the last group of chapters, which weren't all that exciting. So specifically to Atomicfire, CajunBear73, Joe Stoppinghem, spectre666 and whitem, thanks bunch all, it's good to hear from you. And to everybody else just thanks.

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Ron sat lotus on the end of Kim's bed facing the loft stairs, his eyes closed and his face serene (or as non-goof as was possible). But he was only superficially meditating. There had been to many muffled yells and screams, thumps and what sounded like at least one plasma blast that had erupted from elsewhere in the Possible residence for his peace of mind and while he appeared outwardly relaxed, inwardly he was sitting on a hair trigger, in both his physical readiness, as well as his emotional anxiety.

He was using the time to try to at least lessen some of his pain and stiffness even though the meditive healing practices worked nowhere near as well without focusing more of the proper attention and energies of his mind to the task. But right now, his first and foremost concern was to try to project his being, his support, his love across the short distance to his other self, to help her get through this next part of the trial that his sensei had stated was her destiny to journey through.

Then Ron's head jerked fully upright, his eyes snapping open as he detected the softest of footsteps on the stairs before him.

And as the form of his one true love came up into sight before him, his heart likewise rose up into his mouth.

She was walking up the stairs with short, jerky steps, arms wrapped so tightly around her own torso that her knuckles were white and her ribs looked crushed. Multiple splattered drops down the front of her crème peasant top of what could only be blood were obviously from the purple lip that swelled out, skewing the normal symmetrical shape of her face.

But the rest of her features—

Bottled up anger and rage—

Repressed fear and anxiety—

Whirling confusion and dismay—

And above all, a driving need—

Then Kim's eyes came down to the bed next to where Ron sat—

And they got big around before looking back up at Ron with a very questioning look.

Ron didn't look down. He just reached over and picked up the Kimmunicator which had been resting beside him before saying, "it was beeping with a message when I came up here. Wade is back home. He's in the process of getting his systems set back up which will take some time because of how it was gutted when they were trying to find out if he was hacked, how it was blocked so that he couldn't use it when he was grounded, how it was dismantled because of what he took with him to work with the government and because of the damage to his network due to the disruption to the web from all the warfare on it." Ron then gave a little half smile. "He did ask about you and I gave him a real brief fill in. He was all ready to try to patch in to try to listen to you and Shego—"

Kim's eyes dangerously narrowed—

Ron's smile didn't change, "but I told him in no uncertain terms that I had promised you your privacy and if I found out he violated it, I'd take away his unlimited soda card."

Kim's eyes then went watery and that swollen lower lip trembled just slightly. "R—Ron," she just seemed to manage as she came all the way up the stairs only to hesitate at the top, clearly uncertain—

"I . . . I—" she barely managed.

Ron could only look back at her in mystification. "What is it KP? What do you need me to do?"

That seemed to push her across the edge. And he could see it in her eyes, along with all the other emotions that where there before, along with others that startled and frightened him

As did her words and actions as her arms went down and then came back up, peeling off her peasant top even as she stepped toward him saying, "I need you to do something for me Ron . . . I need it in the worst way."

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The hand reached and turned the ignition to her van off before falling into her lap. In the darkness of the driveway, far away from any prying eyes or ears, she allowed a moment for the black depression which had been swirling around behind every action, every movement, every thought, every word for how many days now, to come cascading through. The other hand, the one with the elbow resting on the drivers door armrest, lay across her eyes as she allowed herself almost a full minute of almost silent, half-choked sobs to wrack her body

She'd had to call up to Montana and ask her brother-in-law to hold onto the twins for at least another couple of weeks. Slim hadn't minded and the twins of course were having a ball even though it sounded like Joss was starting to get tweaked—

But she missed the twins—

She missed having her family together.

Her husband _still_ wasn't returning her phone calls.

And while it was perfectly possible that he was so buried in trying to resolve the mystery of what had happened to Felix that he had just become as absent minded as they had been when they were dating—

But she didn't _know_. Could he still be that mad at her for doing what she had to do? Furious for her admission that despite it all, if it came down to it, she'd do the same thing if she had to do it again.

He had both a fierce temper and a real stubborn streak when aroused. The fact that she had a temper as well didn't help. But years and iron discipline, first impressed upon her, then in later years, self imposed, had for the most part gotten her demons under control from the dangerous animal it had been in her teen years so that it rarely showed itself in any form other than an equally iron determination which was rarely denied.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the hot temperament of both parents had gone into their oldest offspring. She knew that Kim was only barely coping with the anger that was simmering under the surface, not only involving Shego, but with other issues, some of which she was denying; others she had yet to even fully realize. If not for Ron, there would have been an eruption long ago that might have been even worse than the night at the hospital. And with the guilt that Kim was already bearing, and to a certain extent, also fending off with denial, she couldn't take another incident like that.

She quickly put a clamp on her own emotions and started to get herself under control.

She was 'the rock' of the Possible family and it was a role that she was proud of. It had enabled her daughter to go off and become a world saving hero while at the same time allowed her to act as a source of moderation and a sounding board to keep that same daughter safe and sane despite everything she went through on those seemingly endless missions. It had also enabled the Possible family to deal with those same missions, the fallout from them with the scrutiny from the press and the tabloids and the neighborhood gossips as well as the separate and just as current and critical problems brought on by two crazed twin super geniuses that had come close to blowing up at least Colorado twice and had caused occasional havoc in the general neighborhood several other times. Added to the mix was a brilliant husband who at times was so focused on some breakthrough project that he stood a good chance of walking into work without his pants on and she—

But now . . . she had to face this particular moment. There was a part of her that was actually afraid to go into her own house for what she might find. She knew she had been taking an awful risk leaving Kim alone with only Ron in Shego's presence. But she hadn't been able to put it off any longer and the truth be known, she hadn't wanted too. Things had to be coming down to the wire. From the few secure phone calls that she was able to make, she knew that the 'unofficial' speculation was that time was very short if Drakken had been able horde enough equipment somewhere to implement one of a dozen scenarios that seemed to possible with the information intelligence believed he might have acquired. She knew that somehow, someway, she had to start getting her daughter back on track, back in the game, and if that meant taking some risks, so be it. She had to give her daughter some way of finding an outlet for the rage, insecurity and uncertainty that was still inside her. If that didn't happen before the end game started—

She allowed herself an angry movement as she ripped a tissue from the box to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. She then managed a small smile. She wondered if Ron had told Kim about how 'tweaked' she had acted about her daughter not being able to give up all of her extra activities at school on the first plunge. She actually felt just the littlest bit sorry about that for it had all been an act. The fact that Kim hadn't been able to disengage herself told her that _that_ part of her daughter was at least alive and well. Kim's sense of responsibility to others and commitment to a task already taken was still there.

Now, with a last swipe at her own nose, she felt those own feelings stir within her—

All the stronger because the other was her own dear daughter—

All the stronger still because the task might just involve saving the entire world from destruction.

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The inside of her house was dark and initially quiet . . . she thought. But as she got farther into it she heard noises. Strange noises . . . strange unidentifiable noises . . . coming from the direction of her daughters loft.

She stopped and steeled herself. She would not rush to judgment regardless of what she found. Even if the . . . ultimate thing had happened . . . was still happening . . . all things considered, could she blame either one of them?

Something tickled her senses and she glanced to the side. She was standing next to the hall that led down toward the guest room and her nose had just caught a whiff of . . . ozone? A plasma blast? Had there actually been a fight? Now she was concerned and her face showed it. That could have caused great problems for Shego and she should go check on her immediately—

But her loyalty was to her daughter and the boy who was as a son to her. That came first.

She was in the hall that ran under her daughters loft and she was at a loss trying to interpret the noises overhead. Thumpings and banging's, rhythmic at times but at an almost frantic tempo, then staccato, then a great bump and scraping noises. The thickness of the void and flooring separating the two levels damped much of the impact and spread out the footprint of noise but it sounded like they were on the floor instead of the bed. But then there would be an intense period where she would definitely hear major distress on the bedsprings.

She drew closer to the stairs. She could hear what might be grunts and gasps and several times, the unmistakable sound of the smacking together of bare flesh.

Then her jaw dropped and her eyes went wide when strained voices drifted down—

"K—Kim, I can't keep this up much long. I—I'm"

"Hold on Ron please! Just a little more—"

At her daughters words she dropped her head into her hands. But after a moment she gave it a mighty shake. _This is not right_, she mentally slapped herself. _Those voices are strained beyond measure, not in the throes of passion. Whatever they're doing, it's not—_

She resolved herself to just this once; take the chance to violate the teen's privacy unannounced. Going around and climbing the stairs, cautiously peeking just enough up to get a partial eyeball—

And that eye went as wide as a deep space communication antenna—

Her daughter was just in her cheerleader sports bra and panties; Ron was in his boxers—

And it was a battle royal in Kim Possible's bedroom.

Ron was pale, panting, bruised and battered, looking as if he was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion. But he was hanging in, as he was working solely defensive maneuvers, doing nothing but blocks with his arms, legs or spinning around to offer his bare back to be beat on. He would leap on the bed, grabbing the big backrest there against his thigh, or place it against his shoulder and charge into—

A whirlwind, a tornado, a veritable hurricane of kicks and punches that was his girlfriend, her daughter, Kim Possible. Her face was almost as red as her hair, she was breathing as hard as an entire marathon crowd after twenty eight miles, sweat was streaming out of every pore of her body having soaked through both of her garments, the roots of her hair awash, the long ends of it sticking as if glued to her back/shoulders/arms/chest/stomach as her head/body/torso whipped around in the moves only to be ripped back away again by the next set of moves. If exhaustion was Ron, she was on the verge of total systematic collapse but she was still driving, still purging—

For the tears—

She was crying as hard as she was fighting—

At last it was all coming out. ALL OF IT! All the fear, frustration, anger, anxiety, rage, confusion. Everything that had been bottled up inside her, everything that she had been afraid to let go of, or had wanted to direct at Shego and couldn't, and was afraid to redirect in any other direction, all of it was pounding out of everything including her pores because she could do it to Ron and it didn't matter because they _loved_ each other—

Mrs. Possible felt her eyes swim with sudden tears as she realized it was finally happening. She knew now that everything—

At that moment Kim leapt back and started a reverse spin kick—

"AAARRRGGGHHHHH!" she cried out suddenly as one hand flashed up to the rear of her neck as that one injury, deciding that enough was enough, completely seized up.

Mrs. Possible watched as her daughter, suddenly frozen in place, crying, holding her neck, in pain in more ways than one, seemed suddenly so helpless and vulnerable. Then she watched as the blond boy who had been on the receiving end of that assault of massive force, slowly limped over and enfolded her daughter gently in his arms, turning and twisting them both gently in a graceful, dance like maneuver down, coming down onto the bed with her atop of him, her still in his arms—

Now the tone and ferocity of the crying trebled. But the tone changed. It became one of release, one of healing, one of love.

Mrs. Possible retreated down the stairs knowing now, regardless of anything else, that her daughter was in the best of hands, and fully on the road to recovery.

And that was just what the doctor ordered.

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Kim slowly became aware and it was with a kind of dumb astonishment that she realized that she had dosed off with Ron. As her awareness rose, she felt how sticky she was from all the sweat that had dried on her skin so some time had passed, but she could also tell that her sports bra was . . . well – wet, so it hadn't been real long. She wasn't cold however and she wondered about that. With a relaxing sigh, she assumed it was because she was just about as close as she could be with her boyfriend without going over the line.

For she was still on top of him, both of them partially covered with a blanket of her damp, askew hair—

Which raised another point. She was _warm_. Almost as if she should be under a blanket or something. It infused her whole body, right down to her toes. And that somehow didn't seem right. She started to move—

"Shussh," Ron breathed in her ear. "A couple of more minutes KP. Just don't move."

Kim relaxed at his tone which was almost commanding. She assumed that he was just being lazy as usual and this once, she didn't care. Both his arms were up under her hair, around her upper shoulders with both hands positioned to be on the back of her neck—

Which was very, _very_ warm. And the sore spot of the injury there?

It didn't hurt.

"Ron?" she started in a questioning tone.

"Kim please," was his reply in his 'serious' tone.

Kim bit her tongue. She suspected that he was doing something to her but she didn't have any idea what it was. But although up to now, she'd never had the time to give them any thought, she's heard things from when he was in the hospital before about the miraculous speed that some of his injuries had healed. There was also the fact that the deep lacerations to her hands and arms from her night of madness around Middleton Hospital had closed up in a single night without stitches, after being held by Ron's hands—

Only now, through the blindness of the madness that had engulfed her at that time did she remember the warmth coming out of his hands.

_Mystical monkey power or something akin to it_ she asked herself in sudden wonder.

There was so little that she knew about it and about what and how it affected Ron. It was another of his secrets that he was bound not to reveal at this point in his life so other than the hints and clues that she had picked up from the ravings of Monkey Fist, her encounters with Yori and her one encounter with his Sensei, she only had guesses and speculation. She had asked Ron to explain more fully after Yori had granted him permission to reveal the secret of Yamauchi after the incident with DNAmy, but Ron had said that he had felt that that had only applied to the information given at that time. For any more, Ron felt that they had to have the express consent of his sensei first and that it had to come spontaneously from the master without a request from them.

Despite her frustration with the idea, Kim could accept this. Her own martial arts training really didn't help as she had shunned the spiritual/mental/philosophical aspect of it as much as she possibly could. There were times when she didn't understand why her teacher (whom she adamantly refused to call Master, she named no one her master, which was one of the points of tension between them) hadn't long ago turned her out of his dojo. But his patience seemed infinite and his training was hard but fair and although they constantly argued over points such as these, he seemed to harbor no ill feelings or will.

And occasionally Kim found herself embarrassed when she realized that she had discovered some aspect, usually through a painful mistake or blindsided error, that showed to her that her teacher had been correct in something. But despite those times, she generally did not go back to him for further explanation or possible training. She was the child of her scientist/doctor parents and she believed that everything had to have a hard, factual scientific explanation. What she had seen of Lord Monty Fisk and his 'Mystical Monkey' power along with the 'projection' of Ron's sensei's spirit (and the weird way it used mystery meat gravy on the cafeteria wall to try to communicate) along with the sensei's ability to levitate (the floaty thing as Ron called it) at times baffled her, as did some of the things that Ron had done both in and out of her presence. But there was a hard, stubborn part of her that believes that there was a rational reason for it. She just hadn't found it yet.

Just as she didn't have a hard factual reason for trying to explain why she felt so warm and snuggly in her BF's arms, other than the fact that she was in his arms, but that didn't answer the reason why so many of her hurts and sores seemed to have receded with amazing suddenness.

But she shunted the thoughts aside as peace came over her as did the true realization that she was in Ron's arms and all that meant.

That set off another whirlwind within her, one residing in her stomach, her throat, her heart and her mind.

The battle with Shego had left wounds that would take time to heal. But like the warm hands on the back of her neck, the realizations that thundered through her—

_I am, who and what I am because of you my love._ And she choked anew at the thought. Because nothing could be truer that that statement. Right from their first day together in pre-K. She was standing up to bullies _because of him_, which had started her directly on the path that she was still following today. From that moment she had been right in there, trying to help, trying to do good, trying to right a wrong. And Ron had been right there as well. _Oh yeah, he was the one the bullies were picking on, but when it looked like they might gang up on me, he jumped right back in . . . and got his bottom thumped. But he was the one that made me start helping and he was right there by my side from that first moment._

And things had gone on from there. She was always the one helping, Ron by her side, often in the way of course, but usually just as enthusiastic, _unless it involved one of his many phobias_ she chuckled to herself. _But even then, if I plowed ahead, he made himself come along_.

And it had become natural to her. Always jumping in before being asked, always volunteering, always taking that extra little bit, always doing her hardest.

And some of it had been hard. For she found that she was fearless in her actions even though there was fear in her gut and shrieks of common sense going off between her ears. Despite those, she continued to step in whenever she saw something that she felt was wrong or bad to the point where she started to bite off more that she could chew. At those times she had _known_ that she was in over her head, but at the same time, she just couldn't make herself back down because what she was witnessing _was wrong_. A couple of those same times she had gotten her butt kicked when she tried to take on bigger kids who were bullying or fighting. She's been hurt a couple of times; Ron had been hurt as well for even under those conditions, he had still leapt blindly into the fray when she went down—

It was as a result of those . . . incidents, in an attempt to teach her discipline, 'temper management' and just plain self defense, that her parents had started her in the martial arts with her teacher at eight. Unfortunately it was one of the few things that she couldn't get Ron to come and join her in.

But now, she knew, that the boy she was currently as close as she could get to without physically joining with him—

Kim went back in her mind with butterflies in her stomach and a tightening in her throat to the thoughts that had come to her just a very short while ago. She never would have guessed that a verbal duel to the death with her archenemy would reveal to her such deep portions of her own self.

Not only was she who and what she was because of the boy upon whose bare chest rested her hands, acting as cushions for her own head (being careful to void the bruised side of her face), she was alive, sane and whole because of him, what he meant to her and what place he held in her mind, heart and soul.

She _loved_ him, and right now even that word was too pale and anemic for the actual feelings and meanings she held for him within her.

Just then, Kim felt Ron take a deep breath under her and his hands gently shifted, his arms moving down her torso to wrap tightly around her. She realized that some of the warmth was going away. But as Ron pulled her tightly to him, it was replaced by a different kind of warmth.

"Thank you," she said softly, meaning it on too many levels to count.

"No big KP."

"Your wrong Ron, very big. I can't say right now just how many ways and means it is big."

"You seem to have this strange reoccurring problem with not being able to say things to me," he said in a light tone even as he nuzzled his nose into the top of her hair. "I guess I'm going to have to assume that the Ronster is just so awesome that the very thought processes in your brain are interrupted just by his presence?"

Kim sputtered and fought to push herself up. But he had a good grip around her and he wasn't letting go.

"KP, KP, relax, relax, chalk that one up to my having interrupted thought processes from being pounded on by you for the last however long."

Kim stopped fighting but cranked her head up (and amazingly, there was no kink in her neck at all, _what_ had he done to it?) so she could look at him. "You GOOF!" she spat at him although her eyes twinkled and her entire face shone with her love.

"One of the Ronsters many services," he grinned back.

"I need another service in payment for that," she growled and before Ron could lock down his arms again, she threw her arms around his neck, pulled her smaller body up his the necessary six inches and tried to lock her mouth to his.

"Oowww," she whined as she pulled back away, one hand going to her swollen lip. Her face almost fell into a puppy dog pout, but that would have hurt too.

"Here," Ron said gently shifting her over to the side a little, "it's awkweird and no where near as satisfying, but at least it's better than nothing."

Yeah, a half-sideways kiss was better than nothing all things considered. But considering a lot of other things with these two teens at this moment in time, it wasn't long before things got real warm real fast, pain in Kim's lips or no pain. A different kind of pain, need, the desire to take away the pain, the desire—

The kiss finally broke apart and the two teens were left, panting, staring wide eyed into each others faces, as impossibly close as they could be with all that bare skin in contact with each other, each suddenly aware that the other was aware; because of the minimal covering they currently wore, of the physical reaction of their bodies was having to the stimulus.

Kim abruptly rolled off of Ron over to the side. For a long moment she held her breath, getting firm control of her emotions with her eyes closed. Then, when she was ready, she opened her eyes and saw Ron, looking at her with matching expressions of frustration and need on his face. But those were well behind the looks of respect, thankfulness and gratefulness that were first and foremost right behind the primary which was pure love.

Kim reached back over, touching Ron's face, saying with a firm, loving but reluctant— "you'd better go. We both need showers real bad and we haven't done a bit of homework nor eaten dinner. I would bet that my moms downstairs fit to be tired and we can't chance any other problems right now."

Ron took a deep breath and managed another goofy smile, but then immediately rolled into her for another short but intense embrace and kiss before disengaging completely. They both dressed, Kim going ahead and putting her bloodstained peasant blouse back on. Ron waited for her while she quickly ran a brush through her still damp hair.

They moved together down her stairs and into the rest of the house as if they were walking into the most dangerous lair they had ever been in. But other than the fact that the kitchen light was on, there seemed to be no indication that anyone else was home. They made a direct beeline to the front door and got Ron outside—

Both of them gazed at dismay at the sight of her mothers van sitting in the driveway. It dashed what little hope they had been clinging too.

"Tomorrow, love you."

"Back at cha KP. Be safe."

Kim closed the door and turned around to lean heavily into it. A movement at the corner of her vision involuntarily pulled her eyes up toward the upper stairs landing—

Even in the darkness, her mother's form was unmistakable, standing with arms crossed.

"I am not only dead," Kim muttered to herself, "I'm buried and decomposed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

'_Guys who sail from tedium to apathy, with an occasional side trip to monotony_'.

That same line, a line from a play that she had, in a moment of sheer boredom, picked up and flipped through while she was in the loony bin library only to have _that_ line become indelibly imprinted in her mind, was now running in a madding loop inside of Bonnie's head. She was about ready to commit herself back to that zoo just to have something, ANYTHING, to take her nerves and frustrations out on.

All she did was sit in the stupid bed in the stupid room! If during the day when she wasn't locked down to it, if she got out and started to pace around or did anything other than go directly to and from the bathroom, one of the staff was almost instantly in with her accusing her of anxiety and threatening meds—

And of course she was anxious. She was in near screaming fits! And she couldn't do a bloody thing about it. She'd thought about asking for the cops, the detectives who had tried to interview her before, but she wasn't sure if they would really respond once they figured out that she wasn't 'confessing' like they thought she should but was trying to pin an entirely different, unknown, and to them, probably unfathomable crime on her 'co-conspirator merely to take the focus, 'the heat' off of her.

She couldn't tell her parents; they would start believing that she was delusional again. The hospital staff? She—she just wasn't sure. She was suppose to be hours away from being taken 'somewhere else' and they might see it as an attempt to fight back somehow.

So Bonnie lay strapped down in her bed after lights out, trying desperately to think of something . . . anything—

Even talking to the ninjas hadn't seemed to help.

That only left one person. Could it be possible after all the abuse and grief that she had heaped on them that they might—

Then the lights came on in her room, Bonnie's eyes squeezing shut from the sudden unexpected brightness. And with her hands tied down, she couldn't even cover or rub at them.

It took several moments of blinking through eyes watery with distress before she realized that there was not one, but two people in the room and that one of them . . . looked familiar.

Bonnie up and heaved her body over, her other arm staining at the tension as she strained her body to get her face near one hand in order to wipe her eyes. With that done, she could once again roll back and now look over to try to—

"What's going on?" she muttered annoyed. "It's past visiting hours and you don't look like medical staff.

For they didn't. They were a couple, him (he was sooo familiar), older than her, straight and firm bodied, as handsome as a movie star, just radiating a charisma that would have lit Bonnie's fire under any other circumstance. He was in a _sharp_ looking tan/brown sport jacket/open collared shirt/slacks outfit that accented his fair boyish features and close cropped light hair. She had black hair down past her shoulders that encased her exotic face. She was in a conservative business type blue/white skirt/blouse/jacket outfit that tried unsuccessful to hide a tight, athletic figure.

But their faces, their . . . for lack of a better word . . . auras? He was focused, controlled and something else, lurking behind those eyes; she, she was power, force, and something even scarier behind that radiant smile that now beamed at her.

"Ms. Rockwaller," he started and Bonnie felt herself as if physically stuck by the force of his personality. This man could have anything, _anything_; he wanted if he tried hard enough. And the disturbing memories?

"D—do I know you?" managed to get out as she tried to shuffle back up on the bed, tried to put some distance between herself and two elemental forces.

He nodded understandingly. "We met before when the local police detectives tried to interview you. I left you my card?"

Bonnie was trying to get her mental feet under her. "I—I don't remem . . . And I'm sorry, I didn't keep the card."

The smile didn't go away. "That's understandable in both instances. You weren't in the best of shapes that day physically and mentally."

"We understand," said the lady speaking for the first time. And her voice was as striking as her looks. Self assurance, poise, authority, "that you've made wonderful progress in recovering from what you went through. But we also understand that you still have more work to be done."

"And," he added smoothly, "is one of the reasons that we wanted to talk to you."

Old reflexes kicked in and Bonnie managed to narrow her eyes. "You're here almost an hour after lights out let alone visiting hours to talk to me? That seems more than a little unusual Mr. . . . "

He gave her a little wave of his hand with what sounded like a real chuckle. "We came at this point in time because there will be almost no chance of our being interrupted during these hours. Also we wish that this visit be known to as few of the hospital staff as possible. As for our names, they are unimportant at this point Ms. Rockwaller. They will only become important later if—"

Bonnie's eyes narrowed further even as her sense of discomfort grew more pronounced. "If what? she asked.

The 'warmth' flowed out of the woman's face to be replaced by a very competent, professional demeanor. But her eyes; Bonnie still felt like a fly pinned to the board with a needle. "You have been directly and deeply involved with a series of incidents that have turned out to have local, regional, national and indeed, international repercussions." She then smiled a mirthless smile. "We are directly and deeply involved with the national and international aspects of investigating and correcting the repercussions from these events."

Bonnie's jaw had dropped. "What did I have to do with national and international—?"

The man held up his hand. "Please Ms. Rockwaller. Surely you know enough about the multi-national events that often happen with your acquaintance, Ms. Kim Possible, when she is engaged in a particularly nasty or difficult plot for someone to take over the world."

A sullen mood instantly came over Bonnie. "So this is really about Possible, not me."

But the man gave her a smile with just a hint of conspiracy in it. "Oh no Ms. Rockwaller. This is totally about you. You see, we have reached a dead end in one of our avenues of investigation and we believe that you could be key to reopening it."

Awareness dawned in Bonnie. "You think I know something . . . or someone that you need information or evidence on. You want me to be a snitch." She wanted to desperately cross her arms angrily but that of course was impossible. But she did manage to say in a harsh tone, "get out!"

The mans smile was now warm; his look was if he totally expected her reaction. "I really think you need to listen to what we have to say before you close your mind to it Ms. Rockwaller."

"I said get out," Bonnie repeated with more force.

The woman turned and started to pace the floor, her tone taking on that of a lecturer as she did so. "You take that attitude because you are scared that either Carla Ethome or her gangland father is going to take revenge against you or your family, or because your afraid that the Lowerton 18th Loco's gang is going to do the same because they blame you for what has happened to several of its members." The woman stopped and turned to Bonnie, piercing her though with a look that turned all of her insides cold. "We can guarantee that neither of those situations will happen Ms. Rockwaller. Not try, not promise, but guarantee."

Bonnie mind froze. She couldn't be hearing what she had just heard.

"And," the man added, his face now in a 'business' look, "all the charges and allegations against you? We can make all of those . . . just go away."

"No WAY!" Bonnie exclaimed before it could truly register. When it did register—

The man solemnly shook his head. "We never make promises that we can't keep Ms. Rockwaller."

Bonnie's mind was racing. She desperately wished her hands were free in order to grab her own head to try to stop things from spinning. "But who ARE you guys? How do you KNOW these things and do you really have the power to make any of this happen?"

"The fact that we know these things," came the reply from the woman, now in a flat, cold tone, "should be enough for you to understand that we are from someplace that indeed has a great deal of power and authority. And I'm afraid that that is all we can tell you right now. But we said we can do it so just _accept_ that."

"But—"

"Ms Rockwaller," the man said, his voice still soft and persuasive, "some things just have to be taken on faith. The fact that I was here in the presence of the police must give credence to our having some kind of official government standing and authority. And I'm sure that with everything that you know, especially through your association with Ms. Possible and Mr. Stoppable, that often at times, the truth is stranger than fiction, mutating amphibious teenagers and all. And it may well be that what you might see in some of the more . . . fantastic motion pictures and televisions programs about 'special government agencies' could very well fall into that category."

Bonnie was now gazing at them carefully, her insides still cold and tight, a fear, she wasn't sure if it was of the situation, of the unknown, or of the vibes that she was getting off of this couple, lurking deep down inside of her.

But if there was any possibility of her staying out of jail without her family coming to harm—

And it wasn't that she didn't quite believe them. After all, Possible and Stoppable did work with at least a couple of really super 'spy' type groups. Who else could have those fancy planes that could take off and land vertically right in the schools parking lot? Considering what these two were promising, could they be from one even 'deeper', more 'dangerous' than that. The reference that the man had made to TV, could he be implying something like one of her favorite show, 'AKA-Also Know As'? Bonnie, in her moments of jealously towards Kim had often imagined herself as the heroine of that program (oh, but without those horrid wigs _please_).

Bonnie found herself nervously licking her lips. She winced inwardly at that and made herself stop. She considered for a moment more, then, "so you want me to testify against Carla and the gang members—"

The man smiled broadly and held up a hand to stop her. "We . . . dislike public forums as much as possible. Hopefully we can accomplish what we wish without having to go that route."

Surprise and confusion crossed Bonnie's face. "Then how?"

The smile faded, the firm, business look returning. "The incidents that concern us, those of national and international scope you have no knowledge of. But to be blunt, the father of your friend, Carla Ethome? We need to confirm or eliminate him as to knowing or having access to the information we seek. And Ms. Ethome herself may be the tool that we can use to secure the cooperation of her father."

Realization dawned on Bonnie. "You simply want to use whatever I know as leverage against Carla and her father," she breathed. She drew herself back inward in thought for a moment, then looked up, "for just that, you're willing to do all that other stuff? There must be more to it? And what about proof? I mean, if it does ever go to court, all you've got is my side of the story."

The sly, conspiratorial smile was back on the mans face. He reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out what looked like a PDA. He stepped up to Bonnie's bed, switching the device on as he did so, flipping through the menus until he turned the screen to face Bonnie—

The volume wasn't on loud enough for her to hear clearly but she didn't need to as the words from that afternoon were forever etched into her mind. For what she was seeing was a shot taken from a rooftop, down into a back alley, of her confrontation with a score of angry gang members immediately after the shooting of Ron Stoppable.

Bonnie was shocked, sickened, scared, she actually felt the same nausea from that afternoon rear up inside her and she pulled her face away.

She leaned to the far side of the bed, sucking in great gulps of air.

"H—how?" she finally managed.

"We have ways," snapped the woman sounding very impatient. "There is little or nothing involving this case that we don't know or haven't gotten access too. We have all the pieces that we need in order to force our final move, which includes you, but your holding things up. Get it thought your head girl that we're talking about some real serious stuff here and we don't play kids games nor do we go by kids rules."

Bonnie raised her head and gave the woman a wary look. "Do you really need me then?"

The woman's stare hardened and Bonnie felt as if a shaft of ice was driven through her stomach. "We don't bluff, we need to shove you into their face to prove it," the woman growled, and Bonnie believed her.

"We would take you out of here," the man put in, still very much in his professional tone, "and you would be involved directly in the operation and confrontation with Mr. and Ms. Ethome under carefully controlled conditions. And to again be blunt and answer all your questions about there being more to it . . . "

Bonnie turned her head and looked at him questioningly.

The man hefted the PDA. "Throughout this entire incident, much of your conduct and behavior has been under surveillance. Some of it has been, from purely a professional viewpoint you understand, impressive enough in regards to the way you act and think under extreme pressure, along with your focus and drive to accomplish your goals, no matter in this case however misguided and malicious those goals might have been. And, again, from a purely professional point of view, the very fact that you seem to have no problem with goals that might be described as malicious if not criminal but at the very least are downright amoral is also something that has . . . attracted our attention."

Bonnie tried to process that information, and was appalled . . . and numb . . . because they—they couldn't mean what she _thought_ they were saying—

Could they?

"Nothing is for free Ms. Rockwaller," the woman said in that cold flat voice that drove with numbness away with shivers. "You'll work _for_ us to pay the debts that you otherwise owe society for your many sins. It's just all done under the table. There is risk yes but such is life. If Mr. Ethome suddenly pulls out a magnum and blows your head off of your shoulders, there's nothing we'll be able to do to stop it."

"But," and that suave tone was back in the man's voice, "you'll never have to worry about harm coming to your family and once your 'debt' is paid, you'll be a free young woman."

Bonnie was beginning to feel like a rabbit in a trap. She looked at both of them, and after a swallow against a dry mouth, "and what if I just say no to your offer?"

The man just shrugged with a small, crooked smile and said, "then you're off to the special loony bin Monday morning—"

"And," finished the woman with a cold, hard, biting voice that frightened Bonnie down to her very bones, "when they deem you 'sane' enough, it's back here to Middleton for trial for 'conspiracy to commit murder with 'special circumstances' including premeditation, use of firearm and gang allegations, the court to remand you as an adult for trial. Despite and because of your first timer status, you're looking at three to five years, must do eighty percent of your time." She then gave Bonnie a look of pure death. "Of course that still doesn't count what might happen to your family if certain gang members are also convicted. They're looking at seven to ten to fifteen depending on their past records. The juvenile is looking at camp until he's twenty one."

And now Bonnie felt the cold go through her bones to her very soul. And something else—

"And that's also how long I would have to be . . . working for you to pay my debt?"

And the man gave her the conspiratorial smile again. "It's really not all that bad. You'll be well taken care of, you'll be very well compensated for you time, you'd get to travel the world in first class style. There is rigorous training . . . and as was inferred before, some of the work and assignments are . . . difficult and sometimes . . . distasteful. But you've already demonstrated the ability to handle that kind of work. It can be very exciting. In fact, I can't think of a single person we've recruited that has ever left once they really got into what they were doing."

It was at that moment that the door to Bonnie's room opened. Bonnie jumped (or as much as she could do so tied down in the bed), the pair of adults didn't seemed to move other that a sudden tensing like cats ready to spring and an impression of senses reaching out about them like radar.

In walked a little man.

The door is what made noise. His movements, were completely silent, as he flowed behind the couple and came around to the side of Bonnie's bed next to the window.

A funny little man, probably not much more than four and a half feet tall, not counting the thick but stubby snow-white ponytail rising from the top rear of his head (that being the only hair on his head). But that was matched by a huge walrus like mustache of equally white, underneath from which, was the long tail of a beard that fell halfway down his front. He also had bushy eyebrows of white, but his skin tone and his features Bonnie realized were oriental. He was dressed in what could only be described as a magnificent robe of red with a gold collar with matching lapels that matched into a hem that actually touched the floor. The cuffs of the selves also had the gold trim, and they came together in front of him as if his arms where in fact one piece, his hands hidden.

Once he was to the side of Bonnie's bed, he turned slightly toward her and gave her a small bow. She just sat there giving him an opened mouth stare.

"Miss Rockwaller," he said in a lightly accented, deep, pleasant voice, "you of course do not know who I am, but you are known to me and you do have knowledge of several of my students. You would know one of them as an exchange student at you school last year by the name of—"

"You have no business here old man."

The old man paused a moment, then slowly turned to the couple at the foot of Bonnie's bed. Bonnie looked to them and suddenly wished that she was Ron's little rat, able to scamper into the air vent and get away for the looks on their faces—

"You don't feel that this child should have alternate counsel in regards to making such a life changing decision?"

Daggers were literally coming out of the woman's eyes. "She is no business of yours."

In the same, most reasonable voice, the old man replied, "I am afraid that is where you are mistaken for this child is currently under my protection."

Shock hit Bonnie. _His protection, he must have something to do with the ninja's then. And Ron?_

The man's eyes were dangerously narrow. "And how did she come to be under your protection?"

The old man smiled. "Let's just say that, like your identities, that information is not necessary at this time."

The man's eyes got harder. "This is outside of your scope and depth—"

"And you risk . . . major repercussions if you interfere," finished the woman in a tone that boarded on death at the door.

The old man gave them a very slight bow. "Such is the way of honor my friends. Do what you must . . . as must I."

"Old man," the man started even as his leg moved to start toward the old man.

"I have a dozen warriors here in addition to this child's security team," said the old man in a tone that was suddenly as hard and deadly as that of the woman. "What would happen to you as well as your people out in the hall, downstairs and in the parking lot, would be very . . . disturbing to the local populace, especially to the chief neurosurgeon of this hospital. I do not believe that you would like the . . . attention . . . or her angry."

Bonnie saw the man pull himself back. But both of the couple clearly were . . . really angry, but carefully in control of themselves.

That made Bonnie truly realize just how dangerous they really were.

The old man now turned back to Bonnie. He stared at her though his stilted eyes for the longest period, leaving Bonnie with the feeling that he was pealing her mind like you would an onion, layer by layer.

Just as she was about to cry out for him to stop—

"Miss Rockwaller, it is not my intent to try to confuse or manipulate you. Rather I had hoped that I would not be required to enter this conversation at all. But once it became clear that these," and he waved his hand at the couple, "persons were in fact suborning you, and doing so without giving you the full facts as to who and what they are, or what it was that they were attempting to force you into, it became clear that I at least had to give you those facts so that you may make a truly free decision."

Giving a sidelong glance at the stone faced couple standing in front of her bed, Bonnie asked, "and what facts are those?"

"First off Miss Rockwaller," and now the old man's eyes were wide open. They pulled Bonnie's eyes to his and it seemed, through a window, right into her soul. "Did you conspire with those ruffians to murder young Ronald Stoppable?"

Bonnie didn't hesitate for a second, and she didn't even think twice why. "No I did not. I did . . . conspire with them to attack and beat him up . . . to teach him a lesson for what he did to me but nothing more. If I had had any idea of what was going to happen, I never—" and there was a sudden flood of tears from her eyes.

The old man nodded. "Have you admitted this to the authorities?"

"N—n—no," Bonnie barely managed damning the fact that her hands were tied.

"Doesn't matter," muttered the woman with a nasty, condemning tone. "Just the fact that she admits that she conspired for the initial attack makes her guilty."

"But it wasn't MY IDEA!" Bonnie burst out, unimaginable relief surging though her to be able at last be able to give vent to the buried core of her misery. "The whole idea of having Ron even beat up was Carla's idea in the first place. I just went along with it because I was so scared of him."

The old man was again staring at her tear stained face, his eyes going through her as if x-rays gauging her honesty. Then he gave her just the barest of a perceptible nod of his head—

It was almost a flash of pure joy and the release of burdens unimaginable that coursed through Bonnie when she realized, _he believes me_!

She thought this even as the old man was turning to the couple to say, "and it would not be unreasonable I suppose, considering that according to your own words that 'there's little or nothing involving this case that you don't know or haven't gotten access too'; that there is not also a recording or video of the conversation which would prove the truth of Miss Rockwaller's words?"

The only reply given him was a stone-faced silence.

With a reluctant sigh, the old man turned back to Bonnie. "Miss Rockwaller—"

"You are slitting her throat by doing this old man," stated the woman in a frozen voice.

The old man hesitated for a moment, then turned back to the couple, his eyes and tone now as dead and cold as the high snow covered rocky peaks above his school. "The time for intimidation is past. Favors and deeds in that past on both sides of this room are being placed in the balance by your determination to make your side dominant. I am not blind to what is at stake here nor to what it is that you need and require of this child. But I will NOT," and the room _shook_ at the force of his word, "allow her to make this decision unknowingly, in fear and without knowledge of the consequences of her actions or allowing her some possible alternat— . . . "

"You're killers . . . aren't you?"

The three adults turned their eyes to the small, huddled teen who was looking at the couple with large, frightened eyes. "You're government agents who just like the ones in the movies and TV, operate outside of the law, doing the dirty jobs that need, quote, to be done, unquote, up to and including . . . killing people if it's what it takes to get that job done." And she seemed to pull back further on the bed. "And you want me to become one of you. You want me to go out and like you, do the 'distasteful' jobs, because I don't seem to care, I have no life, no friends, no real family ties, I'm a bitch that enjoys hurting people and I can be very good at it and very, very focused at getting it done."

The man's face was now hard and grim. "If you find that you can't do the ultimate work, that which most people would call the most distasteful, then there are other lesser support spots to fill which are just as important to the security of the world and this nation."

Bonnie shook her head as if in awed disbelief. "I'll bet that both of you love your work. That you love the 'most distasteful' part of it. That you get off—"

"That's enough Rockwaller," the woman snapped.

But the man now had a sly look on his face. "And looking past the face of it Ms. Rockwaller, is that such a problem? You are as ruthless as hell in your own way and have been for years. So consider what it would be like to be truly on top of the heap, and we are not talking some petty High School Food Chain. You would literally have control over life or death. You would have control of people and events that potentially had world changing possibilities. You would be respected and held in high esteem beyond the highest circles of government with all the social and economic perks to go with it—"

"And all of that would be a lie," the old man said quietly. "Because all of it would be a made up story to hide who and what you truly were."

But Bonnie was clearly listening.

"Do you have any future now Ms. Rockwaller?" the man asked in a cool voice.

Bonnie shook her head. "No."

"Friends?"

Bonnie hesitated. "Two. And one of them as you probably damn well know may not survive."

"And right now," came the harsh voice of the woman, "nothing may survive because of all the time we are wasting with this useless debate. I hate to tell you this little missy, but now that you know, you really have no choice in the matter. I'm afraid it's one of those, if I tell you, then I gotta kill you kind of things."

The old man turned once again a hard gaze on the woman. She returned the look just as hard. "Don't look at me you old fool. It's your fault. I don't make up the rules. I warned you before we went this far."

The old man was still looking at the woman. "Exceptions can be made." His eyes then came around to Bonnie. "I am sure that Miss Rockwaller would promise not to ever reveal this conversation if she was asked." The woman just snorted.

The man glanced at his watch. "We have to be someplace else. We will return mid-morning for your answer Ms. Rockwaller. You need to consider your options carefully. Very carefully. As I was saying, you have no life, no future, your in a town where half the kids hate your guts and if we survive the next week and the revelations about Ms. Ethome and her posse become public knowledge, the rest of the town will probably want to burn you and your family at the stake. We can make sure that none of that ever happens. And after that, we can give you an exciting new life doing something really important, in a way that very, very few people are ever offered. You are special Ms. Rockwaller or we wouldn't be attempting to give you this chance. Consider that as well." With that, the couple, without giving Bonnie or the old man a second look, turned and walked out of her room.

The old man had watched them go, he then slowly turned back to consider the brooding teen on the bed before him.

"And you're going to tell me," Bonnie said is a flat voice, "that I shouldn't do what their asking."

"I am not going to _tell_ you to _do_ anything," was the old man's soft, gentle reply. "As I said at the beginning, I am not going to attempt to confuse or manipulate you as those two did. At the same time I am not going to try to influence or otherwise push you in any one direction. I am merely here to provide advice and information. The decision, ultimately, is yours. But it has to be made knowing all the facts and circumstances."

Bonnie sat for a moment in thought, then, without looking at the old man, "you know, or have something to do with obviously with the ninja's that are guarding me. So that means that you also have something to do with Ron Stoppable."

That got her a deeper bow and a reply of, "I am his sensei, his teacher."

Bonnie narrowed her eyes at him. "So the fancy moves, like his twirling those crutches in the PE Office, he got that from you. And you gave him that funny glowing sword that vanishes into thin air?"

The old man just gave her a look of infinite patience—

"All right," Bonnie conceded with a wave of her hand, "forget that I asked that, I can tell that it's going nowhere." She then blew out a nervous breath. "So now what do I do?" She gave the old man an equally nervous look. "Will they really kill me now just because I know that their government assassins?"

The look of patience didn't go away. "So they say."

Bonnie rolled her eyes. "This is not helping."

The old man's hands finally appeared as his sleeves separated, his hands spreading in a conceding gesture as he said, "anything is possible."

"And if you say 'for a Possible' I will scream so help me," Bonnie grated through clenched teeth.

The patience look was back.

Bonnie fumed for a moment then ventured, "I take it that I'm not asking the right kind of questions here?"

"You have a decision of utmost importance to make. You must focus on what is necessary to make that decision."

Bonnie gave him her best annoyed look. "And being worried about them killing me if I say no to them isn't a part of that process?"

Patient look.

"Damnit! I'm scared shitless here!"

"Do you want to make a decision based on how 'shitless' you are . . . or do you want to make one based on what is right or wrong for Miss Bonnie Rockwaller?"

That caught Bonnie up short. With a catch in her throat, she managed, "is there a right or wrong for me?"

"There is always a right or wrong Miss Rockwaller," the old man said gravely. "That has never, and never will change. You are already intimately familiar with the consequences of the wrong. You started down that path long ago but not totally by your own doing or own fault if you find that a comfort. Unfortunately you have gone far enough down that path that it is to late to turn around and return up it."

Bonnie looked at him and slowly horror, misery and . . . disappointment as if an expected miracle had been revealed to be false spread over her face and she dropped it to her chest and started to sob—

"But Miss Rockwaller, there are many paths in life which is like a mountain. The paths twist and turn and often cross each other for many people take many paths on their separate journeys, turning this way and that as they go along. They often bump into each other at a crossing or a branch and at times like that, a decision has to be made." He with a wag of his head indicated the closed door. "You have just bumped into two individuals at a crossing, now your are required to make a decision."

It took Bonnie a moment, but she managed to contain her cries and lifted her red, steaming eyes to the old man—

"To one side, lies the path that you have been following. It is clear, easy, smooth, downhill and it leads to further darkness. The other path," and the old man turned away and went and stood in front of the closed and curtained window, his back to her, "it is a very difficult, dangerous path, for it is a cross path, leading to a high, treacherous mountain pass. There are monsters and demons in that pass that must be battled and defeated, there are villages along it with people that will stone you and attempt to burn you at the stake as a witch. It will take great courage, determination and perhaps sacrifices to take that cross path."

Then the old man turned back to Bonnie. "But it you survive, if you make it through the mountain path, past the monsters, demons and villagers, the rewards will be great, for that cross path leads to the other side of the mountains, where lies the path of light and good. The path of once again being right."

The old man dipped his head but his eyes were fully open and Bonnie once again felt the power of them spearing her to her very soul. "You can not go back up the path to what is right Miss Bonnie Rockwaller. But if you dare, if you dare confront your monster, face your demons, and are prepared to accept the condemnation, scorn and damnation of the villagers, you can once again be on the path of being right. And after that, friends, family . . . and perhaps even love can not help but follow." And then he gave a grand smile. "And Miss Rockwaller, that too is something that will not be tried or promised, but guaranteed."

He then bowed to her, turned and started to head toward the door. Bonnie was so shocked that it took her a moment before she could squeal, "wait!"

The old man stopped and turned slightly, giving her a single, questioning eye.

"O—okay," Bonnie said almost shaking. "I—I don't get half of this, but I th—I thing . . . I mean think— I understand . . . Oh God, I don't know what I think." And she sat, almost panting for a minute before it looked as if she was physically forcing herself to say, "I think, that the villagers are the people here in Middleton and of course my demons are my own; my alcoholism, my temper, my stubbornness. But . . . the monster? Who or what is the monster?"

Bonnie caught just the corner of a secret little smile. "That should be the most obvious one Miss Rockwaller. The monster you have to slay in order to solve so many of your problems. And only you can slay the monster in order to truly put yourself back on the path to recovery and redemption. You may not be able to do it, it may slay you, but you will not know if you do not try."

The old man glanced at the closed door. "They offer you a life where they say that you will have control, respect, esteem. Of whom Miss Rockwaller? Other killers? Other than that, you will have no control over your life, it will control you, for not only will you be living a complete and total lie, but those whom you seek to kill will of course be seeking to kill you. There will never be any rest, any peace. And you will find that it will kill you in the end. Not literally, but any spirit or spark that you might have unless—"

Bonnie waited a moment before, "unless what?"

Now the old man's smile was bitter. "Unless you _want_ to be like those two in the fact that they really do enjoy the power and thrill of killing other human beings. As you say, they 'get off' on it, I believe was your phrase."

Bonnie felt a shiver run through her whole being. Then she looked at the old man and asked in a shaky voice, "but you say that I have to kill this monster?"

The old man gave her a gentle look. "Hopefully it is only a colorful expression and not an accurate description of the what may actually happen. But again, I will not hide the possibly reality from you. It may well come to be. Only time, and your decisions, will tell."

"But I still don't have any idea—" Bonnie began.

The old man smiled. "I think if you put your mind to it, you will be able to come to the identity of the 'monster'. You have, with little effort, deduced the identity of the first two great barriers to your future life. With thought, the third should come, as should the realization of what must be done. For if it is done, and done well, it could undo much of the damage that currently hangs over your head." He then gave her a significant look before saying in a hopeful tone, "which would remove the teeth of a pair of dragons who are circling you waiting to take you as spoil." He then chuckled and gave her a wink, "And I'm sure that if you do it right, you wont even have to do it alone. You should have some help, faithful help, at your side to even things up."

And with that, the old man walked out of the room, leaving a thoroughly confused—

Bonnie sat there for she didn't know how long, just staring at the closed door, her heart still thumping in her chest, her breathing still strained.

Finally she flopped onto her back, unseeing eyes looking at the ceiling as too many swirling thoughts rampaged through her.

Then the lights to her room went off—

"Thanks ninja's," she said absently.

She lay in the darkness—

_It comes down to it I guess, do I fight this monster, who or whatever that is, or do I eventually become a monster myself? And those were two scary monsters despite looking like a million dollars._

But . . . my monster? What could possibly be my monster? Who or what do I know that is anything even close to . . .

Then Bonnie got very quiet for several moments—

Then she snapped upright on the bed like a jack-in-the-box coming out, her face, even in the darkness, one of incredulous—

"Oh . . . My . . . GOD!" Bonnie breathed even as she turned pale. "No WAY! How . . . "

Then her eyes narrowed—

And after a moment, narrowed further—

And with a firm nod of her head, Bonnie muttered, "Tara will help."

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It was with more than a little annoyance and quite a bit of trepidation that Mrs. Possible approached her front door at the ungodly time of the morning. Why anyone would be knocking at this hour could only be bad news. The fact that she had been lying sleepless in bed hadn't helped.

She reached the door and turned to punch the monitor for the infrared/x-ray/Doppler/subspace/deep-radar scanner that was installed for security purposes—

Mrs. Possible's eyes went wide with surprise as she turned and ripped open the door, "oh my—"

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The sky in the east as seen though the sweeping panoramic windows, was just beginning to tinge from black to deep purple with the approach of dawn. But it was neither seen nor acknowledged by a pair of eyes so red-rimmed, so crusted with fatigue, so weighted down with guilt and depression, yet backlit by desperation, anger and the raw white-hot fury of realizations that had been desperately denied for so long but could be denied no longer—

But James Timothy Possible had hit the wall—

Hard!

Half of it had come when he had been forced to accept that realization that he had denied so long, the other half—

His complete embarrassment and total shame had been such, that he had taken the pictures of his wife, his daughter, his entire family, off of his desk and had put them lovingly but firmly into his bottom drawer where they could not sit there, staring at him and damning him every moment of his existence.

Now he was sitting at his desk, a desk that could not be seen under the literal mountain of reports and printouts, staring blankly at nothing.

His mind was just as blank. He knew what he had to do next, on several different levels, in several different things. But—

He had totally burned out. And . . . and he thought he knew the reason why.

He'd lost his anchor; he'd burned his bridges. He'd cut the strings that had always allowed him to be able to solely and completely focus on the task at hand knowing that at the end of it all . . . home . . . and his daughter . . . and his wife would be there, waiting for him.

This time, he wasn't sure.

He was torn. Should he do what he had too, what the last how many days of twenty four hour obsession to find the answer had now led him too? There was no guarantee that revealing what he now knew would correct or solve the problem of Felix Renton. But it would without a doubt throw the space center into turmoil, delaying and perhaps endangering its projects and work for no one knew how long—?

And could he do that without the knowledge of him having his home, and family being firmly behind him to help him get through it?

Or should he be selfish . . . and would it even do any good at this point?

Could it already be too late to try to rebuild the bridges.

He was beyond exhaustion, he was beyond burnout, he was beyond—

Suddenly he became aware that someone was standing in front of his desk. He closed his eyes and groggily thought for a moment. He hadn't heard any knock, he hadn't heard his door open, who would come in without announcing themselves and how could they do so so quietly that he hadn't heard? He was _that_ tired. Well, whoever it was—

"Unless it's something really important," he groused, "I'm afraid that you'll have to wait until my secretary comes back in at nine."

"But your secretary comes in at eight. Does that mean that the two of you carry on for an hour before you open the office door?"

It didn't actually register for . . . he didn't know how long. Later he thought that it really didn't register at all, that it was all a mindless, automatic reaction. But he lifted his head and his unseeing eyes looked out across his desk—

And saw his wife.

And she had that same look on her face as she did all those years ago when he looked up from fifty hours on his masters experiment and saw her and realized that he was about sixteen hours late for what was to have been their first big Friday night date.

"Honey?" he grated in a voice horse from too much coffee, too many conference calls, way too much talking to himself.

"It's both our faults," she said tersely. "Yours for being stubborn, not trusting my instincts, and not seeing past your own prejudices to the big picture beyond our family comfort. Damnit I _know_ you know that sacrifices have to be made, you just don't want them to disturb your bed rest at night."

He absorbed it numbly. He was almost incapable of feeling anything right now . . . except—

"It's my fault," and she stopped with a catch in her voice, "because at times when it looks like its really going to hit the fan for us and maybe the world, that I revert to a woman that was not the one you courted, loved, married, bore you children and promised to spend the rest of your life with. You don't like that woman, she's not the woman you want in a wife or a life partner." Then her eyes dropped to the desk between them. "Tell you the truth, I don't like her much anymore either." Then her eyes came back up to him and what he saw, the desperation, the longing, the loneliness, the fear. All of it held in a tight check behind that will of steel, but displayed to him, and only to him, so that he just might understand. "Jim," she started.

"Don't Anne," he said with a sudden force that he didn't know that he had in him. He then took a shuddering breath before adding, "It's over, neither of us needs this."

Surprise and horror spread across her face as one hand came up toward him, palm out as if trying to ward off what he had just said.

He looked at her dumbly for a long moment, then closed his eyes in pain bringing one hand up tiredly to rub at his forehead as he muttered a very vulgar profanity.

"No, NO," he spat out, lurching unsteadily to his feet and trying to come around his desk. "That did NOT come out right. The argument is over. Neither one of us needs it. We need each other too badly right now." And as his wife looked at him with an expression that said that she wasn't sure if she should melt into his arms or pound him into the ground, he reached her and almost collapsed into her.

She managed to get him over to the couch, one arms flinging piles of books and papers off into oblivion to make room for them prior to easing him down. "Jim, your dead on your feet."

He looked at her, his face almost blank due to his fatigue, but his eyes alight with emotions that almost made her feel giddy. "What are you doing here? Just Kim at home with Shego in the condition she's in?"

"Your daughter is doing okay," she reassured him as her hand gently stroked the side of his unshaven face. "She did get into it verbally with Shego and the guestroom in a bit of a shambles, but afterwards she got to Ron and that was the best thing that could have happened because between the two of them, they managed to get all it all out of her I think."

A sudden look came into her husbands eyes and—

"Stop right now dear," she said with a no-nonsense look in her eyes. "That didn't happen. They handled it in a different way." _And you and I are going to have to have a serious talk about your daughter being able to make her own decisions about her life and her body pretty soon_.

His eyes seemed to fume for a moment longer than he nodded with a, "if you say so."

"I do. And someone else is watching Shego, not that it matters. She's pretty well out of it." He gave her a questioning look to which she just gave him a smile. "Lets just say that it's the same person who put their foot up my rear end in order for me to come over here and start to get things squared with you."

That seemed to bring him back to another thought and his face hardened. "Hon, we knew what happened to Felix, we knew that it wasn't an accident. But the last couple of days . . . the trail . . . hon, it was an inside job done by one of our own people."

Her face had gone grim but she didn't look surprised. "Do you know who?" she asked.

"You act like your not . . . " he ventured.

She gave him a grim smile with a shake of her head. "Kim and Ron were able to debrief Shego to a certain extent despite her playing coy to save her own butt. Between the two of them, they think they've got an idea what's going on but they can't prove it yet. And it matches what you're telling me. And oh, Wade is back, but he's not set up yet. No idea how long."

He gave a little nod. "Then I'd better get with them to make sure we have all our facts straight on all sides before we take action." He then looked toward his desk. "In the meantime, there's some stuff—"

He felt a hand grab his chin and pull it back around until he was looking into sapphire eyes that would brook no opposition. "Is there anything that needs you for the next eight or ten hours that has a direct correlation with being able to release Felix from the torment that he is in?"

He tiredly sighed and gave a little shake of his head.

She gave a little nod back. "Then you are coming home and sleeping in _our_ bed and I don't even care if you don't shave or shower—" there was a catch in her voice, "t—that woman that you dislike so much desperately needs her husband back."

With that, Jim Possible managed to find the strength to reach up and pull his wife's head down for just the gentlest of kisses. Considering his exhaustion, it was all he was capable of, considering her needs, it was all that she wanted.

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A/N: Once again, thanks for reading. For those of you that have been hanging in there, now that this monster of MY creation is almost two years old, I hope that you will be pleased to know that with this chapter, we have finally reached the start of ENDGAME, the climax of this story. The following chapters may be spotty as far as release dates as I work to make sure all the loose ends are being gathered up, but when it finally gets out there, I hope that it will be worth the wait.


	26. DDay Eve Early Morning

Although she didn't know it, the same barely there sunrise that was visible outside of the Middleton Space Center window of Dr J.T. Possible was also visible outside the hospital room window of one Bonnie Rockwaller. But it didn't matter to the teen girl who gave a groan of what was actually happiness as she shifted her weight from the right side of her stomach/hips to the left, resettling her arms under her head/pillow as she did so—

Then she came awake—

Then it was more than a minute for her to realize that she was _on_ her stomach with her arms under her head—

As if she was unshackled . . . for the first time since she had been brought in.

Suddenly, with a frightened start, she lurched upright on her extended arms, staring down even through the near total darkness at her hands in fear, disbelief, wonder—

Her free and unencumbered hands.

With the same reaction as a tiny mouse caught outside of its hole with the expectation that the cat would be looming right over its shoulder, her head snapped up and around wildly looking for an answer, or a nurse . . . and fearing both.

And as her head snapped over to that side of the room and saw—

And she sucked in a huge aghast breath—

For now she knew why she felt so cold and why the air smelled so clean.

Casting a frightened glance at the door, she stole out of the bed as quietly as she could and almost blindly reached out with one hand and shoved it through the open window into the cold pre-dawn air, a window which had never, _ever_ been open before.

And she held it there for several seconds, as if not believing any of what her senses were telling her.

But then, in the dim light, her eyes slowly, almost reluctantly moved over to the window chair that was now almost touching her. In it, where there had never been anything before, was now a large bundle. And on top of the bundle, was what could only be a folded note.

With hands shaking so hard it was as if she was naked in an artic ice storm, Bonnie took the note, wincing hard at the noise the paper was making, expecting it to bring the entire ward staff down onto her—

She had to pad over to the tiny night light next to the light switch to read it. It said; _Miss Rockwaller, the time for you to make your decision is at hand. If you decline to take this offer, simply return to the bed and refasten the restraints. All other traces will be removed from the room before the arrival of any staff. If however you decide to take this path offered and tread the dangerous way through the mountains, you must understand one thing. This task stands outside of the promise and vows placed upon you by Ronald Stoppable. From the moment you undertake it, to the moment you complete it, you will no longer be under the protection of my people. You may succeed and go on to the path of light and right; you may fail, and perish somewhere on the cruel peaks. You may complete your journey but at such sacrifice and cost that you might later die of wounds received. But at the same time, you can succeed if your heart, spirit and soul are determined to complete the challenge._

_Regardless, you must understand that what happens from the moment you accept, your decision, your fate, is totally in your own hands, and those that you might trust to help you with it. Chose well, chose wisely, chose for the good and the right of you Bonnie Rockwaller, for only you can make this choice._

Bonnie now, as if in a daze, almost stumbled back over to the edge of the bed, the enormity of the whole thing _finally_ striking her square in the face.

After what seemed as several rotations of the universe, she turned her head to gaze dumbly at the open window as if it were a dragon waiting to eat her, the ideas and determination that has seemed to fill her not too many hours ago running out of her like water out of a can shot full of holes—

Which was all too probable to be her fate if she carried through with it.

But . . . God knew how long in another full lock-down looney bin far from her home, far from the few friends she had left, hours and more hours of horrid group therapy sessions—

And after that . . . prison?

Other than the prison that she had already made out of her life?

She head a car driving by outside and that new and fresh sound seemed to shake her back to the present. She glanced back to the door of her room, then around at the ceiling. She would guess that the ninja's were making sure the night staff would stay away—

And that was the last thing they were going to do for her. Once she was out, if she went out, Carla, her father, or the gang members would kill her if they could—

Then she choked back a sudden sharp, fearful choked sob, _but I'm the one who had already written myself off as dead. Even tried real hard to carry it out. Can I try to do this? Do I have any real chance of making it? God I'm so scared._

Then she thought about the killer couple and their offer—

And her insides hardened. _Scared yes, but at least I'm able to feel that way, no one telling me to feel or be anything different. No one telling me what to do. No one tells me what to do. No one tries to tie a leash around my neck and make _me_ their trained killer dog. No one screws up my life. If it's gonna be screwed up, it's because _I_ screw it up, because it's _my_ choice—_

But that thought didn't totally . . . _Felix, I need you to comfort me. Tara, I need your strength. Mom, God mom, I'm so scared and I know that you still don't know or understand who or what I am but I want to make it right, I do!_

She looked back up at the ceiling, _I've wanted to die for how long ninja's. Now . . . now I'm scared to live. How do you guys find the courage? Does that old man have a magic sword that he hands you to get it? Is that how Ron came about his?_

Bonnie abruptly dropped her head into her hands. _Don't lie to yourself bitch! You always knew that there was more to Ron than you were ever willing to admit to yourself let alone anyone else. No one like Kim could possibly ever be friends, let alone fall in love with someone who didn't have a core of strength somewhere in them. Ron is just . . . easygoing, and you've known it all along. And you turned and twisted and perverted that into his _'loser'_ image for the whole world to see._

Bonnie slowly pulled her head up and stared, unseeingly out the window through her tear stained eyes. _Just like you've turned and twisted and perverted your own life in an attempt to make yourself something your not. Beautiful like your sister, smart like your other sister, self confident, full of drive, poise and self esteem like your 'arch rival', a girl that you probably could have been good friends with if you hadn't been spending your entire life after middle school making up for your own inadequacies by being the biggest bitch and slut that Middleton High has ever known._

Bonnie's eyes came back, and they focused on the window. _You could go out that window . . . and just start running. Running as fast as you can, never looking back. Go some place they don't know you, somewhere they'll never find you. Surely they wouldn't actually spend any time and money trying to find a worthless piece of shit like me—_

_And there'd I'd be, a worthless piece of shit made even more worthless . . . I'd probably be making my living on my back, in some dirty little hovel, eating the crap outta trashcans when it got real bad . . . and eventually something would happen, and I'd end up with the cops. They'd run my prints and it would be all over . . . unless I could get out of the country somehow—_

Bonnie shook her head slowly, still looking at the window. _No Bon Bon, you really have a lot of choices which in the end are not choices, their dead ends to another kind of hell or something similar, just different from the hell you've already created for yourself. _Bonnie took a long, deep breath. _You only have one _real_ choice . . . you're just too . . . scared to take the step toward it._

Bonnie turned her eyes again toward the door. Her original plan, had been to ask to go visit the hospital senior volunteers 'library' as early as she could manage it, hoping to be able to maybe find a pair of scrubs somewhere and slip out wearing those. The fact that she had never once before asked to do that, coupled with the fact that she normally had at least two staff members escorting her anytime she was out of her room—

Was some deep part of her hoping that plan would fail? That the staff would catch her and she could then admit it all in a crying, screaming frenzy. Surely the killer couple wouldn't try anything under circumstances like that? Or maybe they would just bundle her up and send her off to an actual asylum, never to be seen by anyone again, with her life totally run for her for the rest of her days.

That killer couple, a pair that 'got off' on 'killing other human beings'—

And that old man, who had come simply to give her a chance to be able to make her own decision, facing down that couple in the process, and now giving her the chance to actually get out and maybe make it happen.

Only one real choice—

Bonnie stood up off the bed, shucked out of the hospital gown, and reached for the bundle in the chair, her only thought, _God, I hope that whatever this clothing is, that it doesn't make me look fat._

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The reflection on her ceiling, a kind of gold shimmering, let Tara know that the sun must have just been rising above the mountains to the east, reflecting off of the windows of the across-the-street neighbors house and then onto her ceiling. Which meant that she had a little bit less than an hour before the alarm was suppose to go off. And why was she awake? What had woken her . . .

She then jumped at the loud, sharp 'TAP' at her window of her balcony doors, followed at second's interval a second, and a third.

She looked at stunned surprise toward the door. She knew the sound of course; someone was throwing small rocks at it to get her attention. Steve Foley, the basketball star forward that she had dated very briefly before the prom after an argument with Josh, had repeatedly done that trick trying to get her attention back after she dumped him and refused all his calls and other attempts at contact (like most jocks, he had a simple one track mind, a track that Tara had no intention of going down until she was married). But who could be doing it out of the blue at this un . . . whatever time of the morning.

The start of another round of rock 'taps' launched Tara out of bed, (Foley had eventually cracked the doors window and her parents had not been happy) pulling open the sheers and staring down—

Tara's heart came up into her throat as one set of fingers came up to her lips. . . "I can't believe—"

If she was launched out of her bed, she ejected herself out of her room. In the darkness of the upstairs hall, the sudden change in environment shocked some semblance of intelligence into her and Tara went into stealth mode lest she make some other portion of the household aware. Downstairs she went, slipping into the garage grabbing the side yard gate key as she went. Moments later, she was out in the damp, cold morning, bare footed in just her nightshirt, grasping the top of the side gate and staring as if she'd seen a ghost.

"What are you _doing here_," Tara hissed as she got the gate open—

More than a few minutes passed before Tara's questions were even half answered. In fact they had doubled, driven by worry, apprehension, appalling anger and a host of other emotions that she had yet to identify, let alone control.

For she was inside her dark garage, sitting on the rug in front of the washer/dryer, holding a sobbing figure who had been crying out a story that was so strange and terrible, that it had to be true.

"I need your help Tara," Bonnie finally managed to get out with only a half sob as the brunette tried mightily to get herself under control.

Tara squeezed the other girl's shoulders harder for emphasis. "You've got my help Bonnie. I'm just not sure what we can do?"

Bonnie lifted her head and gently pushed herself away from her old friend. "I know what I have to do," she said with still shuddering breaths. "I'm just not sure how to make it happen."

"Well, Tara said firmly, "right now we have to find a place for you. Once the hospital realizes your gone, this has got to be one of the first places they'll come looking for you if for no other reason that to ask me if I know anything about your escape."

Bonnie's eyes locked on Tara with a look of desperation and need. "Tara, do you think I can do this?"

Tara was managing (barely) to conceal her own fear and worry, but still was able to say, "Bonnie, if I understand everything I've heard, than I think you're destined to do this."

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The morning sun just caught the upper half edge of the corner of the far frame of her window meaning that it had been up about a half an hour or so . . .

Kim's eyes came open slowly as she was a bit fearful to wake—

And to a certain extent, her fears were justified for as soon as she was aware, her body told her in no uncertain terms that it did not like all the things that had been happening to it lately.

But, as she very tentatively got her limbs to move and carefully rolled onto her back, she became equally aware that things were nowhere as bad as she had a right to expect. The very act of rolling over was proof of that as her neck . . .

_Ron_ she thought, _whatever it is that you do, you do it well. I'd marry you for this alone let alone—_

Kim let the thought drop. Despite her almost total exhaustion when her head finally hit her pillow, equally total was a certain need and frustration burning deep inside that had taken . . . several sessions of activity before the grating edge had been worn off.

So now, given her apprehension about just what condition her body would be in when she awoke . . . A hand reached up and gingerly touched at her mouth/lips/chin area, sucking in a sharp breath only when she touched the actual cut on her lip. She could tell that the rest was still swollen, but again, nowhere near as sensitive as she had thought it should be.

She slowly sat up, and only then did her muscles and sinews _really_ advertise their discomfort. But again . . . after a moment, she realized that it was ninety-five percent stiffness; almost exactly of the type she often had after a really brutal battle with Shego, or her run in with that anaconda a couple of Christmases ago . . . _which I suppose it could be looked at either way, Shego is just a different kind of snake after all,_ she thought. Normally a hot shower with careful stretches would take care of most of the discomfort.

But Kim sat there for several heartbeats with her arms draped in her lap, head far down in consideration.

She felt . . . good. For the first time in as long as she could remember, there wasn't a tightness in her chest, there wasn't a steel bar shoved in through from one shoulder to the other, she didn't feel like clenching her hands constantly or grinding her teeth.

_Something else I need to thank you for Ron,_ she thought as her throat tightened. _Of all the things that you've done for me, what you did last night to make it all better—_

For Kim, for the first time in all too long, felt like . . . Kim. With the knowledge, that once it was worked through, _explained everything that had happened to me, my family, and friends and of course Ron in the last several months. I now know all the drama for why it had seemed that the whole world had turned against me . . . and us._

_And you've learned, _she thought, as her eyes got misty, _more about yourself because of it than you could have in your whole regular lifetime. And the greatest thing I learned . . . _

And her hand had to come up and rub at the tears in her eyes, even before she raised her head to look out of her window at the morning sky with a smile that acknowledged the triumph of the turning point made, the glory and promise of the morning sun and life and love renewed—

Of facets of her life and self, some of which she hadn't even been aware of . . .

_I _CAN_ do anything. And the reason why is that I'm special, but even more so, I have special friends, a very special family and the worlds greatest young man for my love, friendship and care; and they will help me get through anything and everything that I have to face for the rest of my life because at last, I finally understand that there are times when I _CAN'T_ do it, can't do it by myself, cant do it on my own, but I only have to ask, even for the most painful things, to have their help—_

And Kim dropped her head again, shaking it with wonder, _even if what I'm asking is to use my ever-loving boyfriend for a punching bag in order to get all my emotions out . . ._

Then her face quirked as a slightly different thought hit her.

_Well, not all my emotions. Ron, I hope you realize that this promise you made to the 'respected elder', whoever it was, just might be your undoing. Because if we have to wait until our wedding to get up close and personal, you might not survive that same wedding night to go on the honeymoon._

Kim's head came back up as she closed her eyes and indulged in a deep, stress relieving breath and sigh. _I respect and will continue to respect your honor and promises Ron. But if it takes waiting for our wedding . . . You were the one who, kiddingly I know, speculated that _that_ wouldn't be until we had our Masters Degrees and a year to get established in the workforce. In reality, it's a pretty good idea. But that's eight years from now and after the last couple of months and especially after last night when I could _see_ that you want me as badly as I want you, I can't believe that either one of us wants to wait that long._

A look of determination came to her face. _I know you tried to shoot me down Ron, at least about the two of us going together, but that doesn't mean that I can't try to find out on my own who this 'elder' is and find out the reasons why they had to put these restrictions on you. I _will_ find out and I _will_ talk to them to see if we can be allowed to live our lives as we want with the knowledge that we will be careful and responsible and respectful and that it's for _love_, not just the base pleasure, that we want to be granted the freedom of our own bodies_.

Then her mouth quirked again. _But then again, somehow I know that the pleasure that we will give each other when we do reach that point . . . neither one of us may survive the wedding, or whatever night it finally turns out to be—_

But what a way to go— 

Kim glanced at her nightstand clock and with a look of slight apprehension, pushed herself up out of bed onto her feet—

Again . . . _Ron, whatever you did, if we could bottle it, I think we'd surpass the millions you've got held in trust from Bueno Nacho._

After picking out what to wear that day, she descended down her stairs to her bathroom where, after a painful physical and mental evaluation of her face, she had that hot shower with massaging pulses, stretching as she did so. She also took note of the beginnings of multiple bruises about her body, thinking about the looks and comments they would generate in her cheer uniform (everyone knew that she wasn't currently doing missions so the speculation as to how she got them would be rampant). After that, her minimal school makeup and dressing.

A trip back up to her loft for her school supplies and then down the upstairs hall and around to the front foyer stairs towards the kitchen. Kim wasn't sure if her mom would be up considering how tired and strained she had looked, acted and sounded the previous evening, but noise in the kitchen told her that someone was in there.

"Morning Mom," she said as she came through the door, "I hope you . . . " And Kim froze in wide-eyed, open-mouthed surprise at the sight of the figure that greeted her.

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The figure in the single bed against the wall didn't see or care about the early morning sun because it was buried deep in a cocoon of sheets and blankets, unstirring until the alarm on the headboard, set to go off at the very last minute of course, started it's demanding buzz for attention. A single hand came out, going directly to the offending device as if guided by vision but in reality directed by simple muscle memory in a mission to cease and desist the source of obnoxious noise.

After the accomplishment of its mission, the hand retreated back under the covers . . .

Unstirring returned in full force.

After several minutes, a knowing and patient voice came through the bedroom door, accompanied by several knocks. "Ron, you're going to be late if you want to go over to Kim's house before school."

"Oh man," muttered a voice from somewhere inside the cocoon. "It's Friday. Why can't the school week be only four days? Or better yet, two? Or why can't someone come up with some crazy, hyper-educationalsmartz-brain-injector thingy."

Finally, with a groan sounding as old as the hills, something other, very other, that a beautiful butterfly crawled out from the cocoon of sheets and blankets.

Ron managed to get to his feet and stumble over to his dresser and mirror. A, longer, more painful groan growled out of him as he saw his face reflected back at him.

_I look like the Fearless Ferret without even wearing the mask._

A dark red nose and eye sockets going a nice purple in a pattern that matched his ferret mask to a tee . . . he was going to be hearing about it at school.

With dread settling heavily on him, Ron tiredly started to dress, wincing and hissing little gasps of pain almost continually as he stripped off his pajamas. The last several days had been very rough on his body. He could still feel traces every nerve in him tingling painfully from Shego's plasma blast, the areas of his old or barely healed injuries were like cold lumps of stiff, smarting jagged rock inserted into his body . . .

The rest of him? He was, as he peeled off his shirt, nothing but one giant bruise over every visible portion of his skin. Even the shower had hurt the night before with just the pressure of the water against his tender flesh.

He had only healed a little. As had been warned and advised by Sensei, Ron had about reached the limits of the amount of personal energy he could put into the process of healing without taking several days for his aura to 'recharge'.

And just about everything that he had had left, he had given to Kim the previous night.

_But she needed it more than I did,_ he thought without a trace of regret. _There's no way that she could have really healed mentally if she was still physically in pain. And getting her back into the game, getting her back to feeling good about things, about herself . . . that's the best thing that I could have done for her. And if I could do more, if I need to do more, if I need to drain myself to the dregs, she deserves everything I can give her after all the little problems and big screw ups I've done over the years._

He stopped, and looked at himself in the mirror again, and allowed a tired, sore smile to be reflected back at himself. _Even though she didn't say it, I know that part of the reason why she lost it so bad when things were really hitting bottom before was that she . . . didn't want to burden me with problems that big. She was Ms. 'No Big'; and while I know she can and could talk to her mom or Monique, talking to me about some of the things that were going on then just wasn't possible for her. She short-circuited and that resulted in her trying to find the . . . physical relief even though I think she knew in her heart of hearts that I couldn't give that to her (as bad as I want to give that to her) . . . which made her all the madder. And I think it made her as mad and hateful at herself as it did at me and the whole thing snowballed in her and . . . _

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It _hurt_ to walk, even with the cane as a crutch. But then again, at this point, it hurt to do anything. So once again, the pain just all blended into a 'constant' that Ron just had to deal with. But the morning air was crisp and cool as he walked toward Kim's house and that itself refreshed his mind and helped him to deal with it as his mind continued to deal with—

_But, _and this lifted a great burden within him, _last night she came to me and together we dealt with a problem that was near to killing her. And we did it together . . . even though I think it nearly killed me in the process. _He snorted and smiled again. _But she wouldn't let that happen. She _trusted_ me enough last night to let her know that I could take whatever she had to throw at me and yet let her know if it was getting to be too much for me. It let her get it _out_ of her system without fear that she would overwhelm me. _Ron shook his head as if in awe. _I know there have been times when she didn't trust me with certain things because I have a tendency to screw them up. But . . . we've always trusted each other with our lives and last night, that found a new channel and a new meaning . . . and it can only make us stronger. And while—_

And he had to stop and drop his head a little and his throat tightened. _While there have been times that I have been unsure, or in disbelief or in sheer fearful total complete insecurity over the fact that someone as beautiful, talented, strong and smart as Kim could ever fall in love with me, all I have to think about is that first trip to the mall last summer, or that night in the tree house, or when she found that lost prom photo in the woods and knew for sure that she could 'say the words' and now last night to know . . ._

"She really, really does love me," Ron said softly to himself. "Even if she couldn't say it for a while."

It wasn't until Ron actually got in sight of the Possible house when the thought . . . _oh snap! I wonder what happened with Kim and her mom last night? I hope that she didn't get into too much trouble. I should have stayed to explain what happened with Shego and all the damage to the guest bedroom. I hope that Kim didn't try to take all the blame for that stuff on herself. Oh MAN!_

And now he had actually reached the Possible's door, where he was torn due to his anxiety about the what might have happened to Kim, balanced against his fear of the wrath of MrsDrP if Kim _hadn't _taken the blame on herself but had in fact told the truth about Ron's part in it.

But with effort, he squared his shoulders, "it's okay Ron, if you can survive last night, Shego and plasma blasts, Kim and her _really_ mad Kung Fu skills . . . and both of your hormones, you can survive anything. You're goin in!"

But he didn't call out Kim's name as usual as he did so. And Ron tried not to tiptoe as he stepped down the hall to the kitchen. His face screwed up as his nose detected the aroma of something baking, the chef portion of his mind kicking in as he tried without success to identify it (even though it was very familiar). Reaching the corner, Ron peeked around the into the kitchen, seeing Kim at the table—

"Kim?" he whispered.

She looked up, a huge smile coming to her face. "Ron." _Well, that's promising_ he thought. Then Kim's 'looked' at him and brought a hand up to her mouth in shock as she took in the 'Ferret Mask'. She started to come up out of the chair—

Then from the portion of the kitchen that he couldn't see, a figure moved into his view and his eyes went very wide—

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As the two teens headed down the hill from the Possible house, Ron tired to pick at the corner of his teeth, muttering though his fingers, "bon-diggity squares KP. So your mom was cool with what happened?"

Kim was walking next to her BFBF, trying not to drop into a near cringe now that she was realizing the true extent of Ron's injuries, restricted mobility and continual pain. She was even fearful that the mere act of holding the hand that wasn't holding his cane, despite his reassurances to the contrary, could somehow cause him more agony. And parts of her where both proud and appalled by the way he was trying to act and talk as if nothing was wrong. She had to force herself to answer his question in a normal sounding tone.

"Well, she wasn't 'cool' with it," Kim said with a sigh for emphasis. "Not by any means. But she was patient and listened to the whole story first before saying anything back."

Ron's winced as he mentally played the described image. Then reluctantly opening his mouth, "I'll be willing to see if my folks will let me do some extra chores to pay—"

"Mom said," Kim intercepted with a grim smile, "that she would be in discussion with your 'rents directly to see if something like that can be arranged." Kim's own shoulders then slumped down. "I think I'm looking at a whole lot of babysitting in my future for my part of the bill. The damage to the carpet didn't tweak her anywhere near as the plasma hole in the wall."

Now it was Ron's turn to cringe and that brought out an "ow!"

Kim's face screwed up in reaction and she started to open her mouth to apologize once again—

"So," but Ron, despite the strain in his voice, "what else did your mom say?"

Kim felt her lower lip tremble as she looked away. She felt so BAD! And Ron was trying sooooo hard to make it all no big!

It took her a moment to find her voice and make it light and emotion free. "Well, the other _bad_ news I guess is that between the both of us, Shego is _out_ and mom thinks that she'll be out at least two or three days." Kim was finally sure enough of herself to look back at her BF. "So we blew that part of it. No more debrief of her considering what we think we've figured out."

But then a thought crossed through those emerald eyes and they came up to look questioningly at her love. "Did you and Wade talk about anything last night other than my little . . . talk with Shego?"

Ron looked liked he tried to shrug, and gave it up with another wince when the muscles didn't cooperate. "No he didn't. He was just glad to be back home. I did tell him about the 'bugs' that Shego said she planted and he scanned your room and stuff with the sensors on the Kimmunicator—"

Kim's eyes flashed wide . . . and she wasn't sure if it was because of what Wade might have found as far as Shego's bugs . . . or what he might have found in regards to her—

She turned her face away again, blushing furiously. All the while, trying to keep her voice steady. "Did he find anything?"

"Pandaroo, your backpack, all your purses, your ID wallet, equipment belt. I don't know how much time it must have taken to get all those things planted—"

Kim turned her face back to Ron, the horror in it chasing the blush away.

But Ron was able to raise a hand to her in comfort. "But he was able to disable all of them. Some will take tweezers and some fabric cutting to get them out of your things. He thought that you should do it—" making a motion with his hands indicating his all-thumbness with that kind of thing.

"I'd like to just burn it all," Kim snarled in sudden anger.

Ron just gave her a nod knowing that she just had to feel 'violated' from the intrusion of the listening devices.

They continued all the way down to the bottom of the hill with steam running out of Kim's ears—

"Not Pandaroo," she finally said in a gruff tone. "She does too good an imitation of my boyfriend when I need to cuddle with something in the middle of the night.'

Ron's blush was deep enough to match the darkest of his bruises.

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Complete!

The dark figure collapsed into a chair, leaning back after a moment to sprawl bonelessly as complete numbness, both of mind and body came over it.

Lack of food or water had taken its toil; lack of care and hygiene had fouled it further—

Single-mindedness to see the task to the end had—

But it wasn't at the end.

What little that was left of the conscious intellect knew that one last requirement had to be met before fulfillment. That gutted mind couldn't even fathom what that requirement was . . .

But it would know it . . . them . . . him . . . her . . . for she . . . they . . . were all that—

And at that moment, the Dark Figure would say the word into the throat mike . . .

And the tortured, hurting, violated man who even now was screaming even though it was deeply buried and locked inside the psych of the Dark Figure, would be revenged for what had happened in that jail cell . . .

Fulfillment would be found at last . . .

As _everything_ turned Dark!

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A/N: I would like to thank everyone for reading this and being patient with it. I am in the middle of the sixth chapter of 'Endgame' and as with this chapter, will publish them as I become convinced that nothing I'm doing in the chapter currently being written, affects anything that was referred to in a previous chapter (and with everything I'm bundling together, it hasn't been easy). So it's coming along nicely, it's just complex and lengthy (a little over 33,300 words so far). But the current chapter (31) actually starts the final confrontation between what use to be Drakken and Global Justice (Kim and Ron being kept out of the loop for reasons which will be made clear but don't worry, they _will be in the thick of it _shortly) and things should move along in an interesting way from there.

So once again, thanks and hang in there. I hope you will like what I'm doing with it.


	27. DDay Eve Mid Day

A specific ring tone from the cellphone on the nightstand brought Anne Possible awake with a groan. The first real sleep that she had gotten in who knows how long and the ring tone told her that the hospital was calling with a priority emergency, even when she had left instructions that—

But then, the rational/logical/dedicated portion of her brain flung off it's sleepy annoyance and caught up with the tired/stressed/emotional side. Her staff knew what was going on at home and it would be for only a true emergency that they would call.

Anne raised her head, glancing at the clock on the nightstand even as she reached for her phone. It was just after nine, she's gotten almost three hours of sleep.

The 'grump' got even worse.

"Yes," she was trying hard not to sound snappish, but it wasn't easy.

"Dr. Possible, we need you here right now, there's . . . a situation in the psych ward and—"

"The psych ward?!?" and that _was_ downright snappish. "Why are you calling me for that?"

". . . men are here. Men dressed all in black. They say that they're government agents . . . They're threatening to lock the whole facility down. One of them, named Smith, is demanding that they see you in your office."

"Whaaaa," she started to say prior to cutting herself off. Parts of conversation with her daughter from the previous evening now forced their way into her fatigue numbed brain jamming it into gear. Putting this together with her own hard-gained knowledge . . . and an equally long conversation with her surprise houseguest _very_ early that same morning . . . Anne Possible gritted her teeth and managed, "Ruth, is there a patient missing from the psych ward?"

" . . . Yes. How did you know? Did someone—"

"Ruth," Anne said with not-too-infinite patience, "never mind that. Just go on with what you were going to tell me."

There was an uncomfortable beat . . . and then "well, no one knows how it could have happened. The girl was in standard nighttime lockdown—"

"Ruth," Anne again interrupted as the conversation was not progressing in the direction she wanted and the patience was going fast. "Just so I'm clear, the missing girl is Rockwaller?"

". . . yes ma'am," said the secretary sounding confused and amazed that—

I'm on my way," was all Anne said as she flipped her phone closed. She gave one longing glance at the completely undisturbed form in the bed beside her before slipping out from under the covers and heading for a very fast shower and an even quicker conversation with a certain houseguest—

And a couple of very critical decisions.

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It was what Anne Possible M.D./F.A.C.S./A.A.N.S _didn't_ see that filled her with apprehension as she walked into work. Not a single black suited person in sight anywhere around the grounds . . . but several conveniently parked vans with completely blacked out windows strewn around the perimeter of the lot—

And it was the fact that the staff, dutifully taking care of the public as they did every day when she walked in—

You only had to know them personally to understand that they were frightened and felt trapped, and they were giving her glances that literally begged for it to be made better.

She headed down toward her office in the medical building—

The Director and the Chief of Medicine where waiting in the hall. Both of them turned to her and started to open their mouths—

"No conversation please," and the man who had entered her home by the name of Smith stepped out from the adjacent secretaries station. Both the Director and the Chief paled but they closed their mouths.

Smith just stepped past them, giving Anne a courteous hand wave, drawing her further on towards her office.

Once there, he opened her door and gestured her through—

And closed the door behind her, leaving himself outside.

"If you don't mind," Anne said in a voice that was very close to that of liquid helium, "that is my desk and chair if you please."

The black haired, immaculately dressed woman sitting behind her desk only gazed back at Anne with the look of an angry stone golem.

"Unlike," the woman started in a tone that would brook no talkback, "the agents that were sent to your house to recover a certain . . . wanted person. I will not tolerate your misplaced sense of right or overblown concept of importance in regards to your place, power or authority within certain organizations and/or communities—"

"You think?!" Anne snapped, anger coming full blaze into her sapphire eyes.

The woman came up out of Anne's chair with both of her palms flat on the table in front of her, danger and darkness radiating from her like a beacon. "Get it through your head Doctor! Despite all your connections, your reserve rank, your status within the 'community', if you and or your family; _including_ that skinny, massively hyper, amateur sickly-sweet-save-the-world over important little _demon_ of yours, do not immediately give me what I want," and the woman's eyes narrowed to a look of cold hard death, "I will; and I have the authority to do so under Code Delta, go in and find and take what I am looking for . . . and any resistance _will_ be addressed without hesitation with Deadly Force."

Anne's return look was one of 'over _your_ dead body' as she replied very clearly and carefully, "If you think that my daughter or her boyfriend or myself have anything to do with the disappearance of Bonnie Rockwaller, and I am right in assuming that _that_ is what this is all about, I am flatly telling you that you're wrong and—"

"Shut up Doctor, because I don't care what you have to think or say."

Anne eyes narrowed even further. "Then I think that you'd better start."

"We have Delta Echo authority—"

Anne couldn't help it as an eyebrow rose. But after a moment of digesting this, a lot of things suddenly made sense.

"Now," the woman started, her tone close to a snarl, "I want you to call that little bit . . . bimbo of yours and have her _and_ her boyfriend come over here immediately."

Anne's eyes narrowed again. "What do you want . . . with Ron?"

The woman snorted. "I'll give you that part because you probably aren't aware of it. But there's another . . . group of players involved that made themselves known to us only last night. We actually believe that _they_ are responsible for getting the Rockwaller girl out of here. And Stoppable has . . . some kind of connection to them. What that connection is, we don't know other than he spent some time at their . . . facility last year and that he and your daughter have been on at least one operation involving them."

Anne's face was like stone. "And you want Ron to rope this group in for you?"

The death was back in the woman's eyes. "He does it, like right now, or . . . certain people go away under our Delta Echo authority for a considerable time."

Anne considered this for all of ten seconds, her face a steel mask before, "go to hell."

The woman just continued to eye Anne for ten seconds of her own, then she straightened up from the desk and gave a slight shake of her head. "We'll just pick them up on our own . . . and make arrangements for you . . . and them, to take . . . a long vacation—from everything."

There was a very slight buzz and the woman calmly reached under her jacket to silence the cell phone without withdrawing it before continuing. "You're supporters may squawk about it Doctor but considering the circumstances, we have the authority and the blessing to do what we need to do. And we don't have time for games Doctor. We have been told to use _all_ necessary measures to accomplish out goal."

And the woman suddenly felt just a bit out of kilter when Anne actually gave her a sad smile as a reply to that statement.

"Why the smirk?" the woman asked in annoyance.

"It has gotten a bit out of hand hasn't it," Anne replied with a cold finality.

Only the total professionalism of the woman kept any reaction off of her face. But the mere fact that the mask slammed down even harder than before told Anne that she had scored a hit. She moved to increase her offensive by, "I've spent a considerable amount of time on the phone in here (indicating her office around her) the last day or so. And I was on the phone again last night while waiting for my _daughter_ to finish her . . . workout with her boyfriend _and_ I had an very dear person arrive very early this morning who had a great deal of information of their own that they have been gathering over the last several days . . . and we compared notes." Now Anne's eyes got very hard. "And finally, while I had to break every protocol and security rule to do it, I made a final call from my car on my way over here."

The cellphone under the woman's jacket sounded again and with an agitated motion, the woman silenced it. All during which she looked at Anne with a distrustful glare that would have wilted any other person. Finally, when it became obvious that Anne was not going to say anything more without further prompting, the woman's mouth started to come open—

Just as the door to Anne's office came open behind her—

And in slipped a handsome, charismatic looking man, several years older then the woman, whose face was locked into a iron shield—

But the eyes were still glittering angrily as they glanced at Anne before moving around the desk to whisper in the woman's ear. A slight tic came to one side of the woman's face, the only reaction to whatever news the man had passed along—

No, that wasn't quite correct. A flash of unmitigated hatred flared out of those exotic eyes at Anne . . . then the mask was back in place.

The woman and the man looked at each other for a very long moment and their gaze was so intent that it looked as if they were communicating telepathically. And maybe they were. Or maybe Anne thought, they were just so close and had operated together for so long, that a look between them was all that was needed for them to formulate a new plan.

_Sounds like a certain teenage couple I know_, but Anne only allowed herself to smile at the thought on the inside.

Then the woman's cellphone sounded again, followed a nano moment later by a similar sound from under the mans jacket.

"You guys might want to answer that," Anne said, managing to keep any inflection out of her voice. "I'm sure that you sir (and she nodded at the man) have read the incoming number on your screen and are aware of who it is that is probably trying to call you. and now that you've whispered that information to your . . . partner, both of you are aware of it."

Anne then put her hands on her hips in her most imposing manner. "I'm sure that 'Redoubt' is not enjoying the fact that you are not answering her calls."

"Do you have any idea what your _doing_?" the woman hissed, allowing for the first time for some of her anger to flare into view.

Anne cocked her head as if looking at a wayward child. "I could say the same thing for you two. If the powers that be realized that this whole situation was set up to allow the 'Black Ops' structure to step in and 'do it right in the first place'."

The man was looking at her with eyes that were trying to bore right through her brain. "What makes you think—?"

Anne shook her head. "Oh, don't give me any real credit for this. I got some of the pieces of the puzzle, Ron Stoppable, though he doesn't realize it, got a few of the others. But my visitor this morning? Let's just say that they have an emotional tie to many of the people you people have screwed in this op and they decided, totally on they're own I might add, to call many old friends and call in many, many old favors to get to the bottom of what is going on. It helped that they had the time and the quiet setting out of the zone of operations that allowed them to sit back and look at the 'Big Picture'." Anne's eyes turned hard. "and, admittedly, we don't have a completely clear picture of events, my visitor was able to get a handle on what apparently is _really_ going on here." Anne's eyes then narrowed dangerously. "My visitor has not liked what they found. They made some other calls last night—." Then her whole face turned harder. "And now that I'm in the know, I don't like it either . . . and I made my call—" She then crossed her arms in front of her, her whole form going like stone, "and now that 'Redoubt' is aware that things are not what they seem to be, or at least as she has been briefed, I'm sure she's boarding on downright dislike herself."

The two phones then again started to ring. The fashionably dressed pair snapped them off and without a word, turned and started to walk out of the room—

But Anne turned and placed one firm hand against her door so they couldn't open it. Her sapphire eyes were now like lasers, even though the pair would not look at her.

"It's no secret," Anne said in a voice that she allowed just a hint of disgust and anger to filter into, "that several members of the government have long advocated, very-very-quietly-behind-closed-doors, that 'direct action' should be taken against all the supervillians who were constantly threatening the country and or the world. Yes, its understandable to a certain extent because those _awful_ people somehow keep managing to escape from prison and the tax dollars that get used in containment operations or rebuilding after a particular nasty incident or worse still, that go to support _international_ agencies like Global Justice would better be used in those self same politicians districts on some pork barreled project."

There was a sad shake of Anne's head. "And then there's the condition of the 'deep, deep, black hole/non-existent sections themselves. That little debacle that you had two years ago, where rival . . . 'groups' targeted each other for elimination 'without realizing it'. Over fifty federal swat officers and agents from several 'communities' dead or badly wounded from that fratricide battle. I was in on at least a half a dozen medical procedures that week trying to put some of the pieces back together. I remember the rumors but I—" now her face had a disbelieving look on it. "You're whole 'community' went down into something very much like a black hole . . . and now that those 'others' of us look back on it, we wonder if you were trying to find something spectacular to get yourselves back up into the powers that be good graces."

"And then Drakken did his Diablo thing, which very nearly worked, and wrecked chaos world wide while doing so."

Then, a look of loathing came over the face of Doctor Anne Possible, loathing, anger, disgust!

"Yes, your ilk is know for thinking on your feet, massive rapid improvisation and multi-tasking to control and direct chaotic situations. But if my understanding is correct, you guys were already moving long before you ever informed your . . . sympathetic ears among the 'powers' of what you were doing. You _had_ to be in order to arrange to have Drakken placed alone into a county jail holding cell which would be filled with hard-core prison gang members on their way to the pen, all of whom would immediately take advantage to the situation and assault and violate Drakken the way he was."

Anne's face got tight with emotion and her voice squeezed tight in controlled but self-righteous anger, "and then, you had him sent to that secret government institution disguised as a prison psych ward, where you had him . . . I—" and she had to clench her jaw a moment as something akin to rage swept through her. When the moment passed, "just the fact that those people of yours are suppose to be doctors like me makes me want to _vomit_!"

The rage, though controlled, now filled all of Misses 'Doctor' P, "the fact that Drakken was to be _programmed_ to create a situation that only your 'community' could respond to and restore itself at the same time. If Shego hadn't of broken him out when she did—"

"And again, quick, massive reorganization and improvisation allowed you to get a handle on the 'situation'. Is 'Redoubt' aware that you _helped_ in the manipulation of the war of the WEB to render all the other agencies and communities helpless and you _helped_ set up the situations and circumstances that allowed and encouraged the assault on my family, my _daughter_ and her friends in order to allow Drakken to build up his plan to critical mass—"

Again, a disbelieving shake of the head, "just so your black hole ops groups could be the only, final choice that the powers that be _had_ to turn to . . . goaded on of course by those same members of the powers who inherently believe and encourage your activities as the 'best' response to any kind of messy situation."

The woman's eyes were boring a hole through the wall in front of her. "You have thirty seconds to finish your fairy tale doctor," her head then snapped around for those same eyes to burn at Anne, "then I will take great pleasure in breaking your arm in order to allow us to leave."

Anne's eyes bored back just as hard. "I can't take your . . . ops group down," she said in a hateful whisper. "But I can make sure that you can't 'damage control' or 'plausible deniability' your way out of this completely. If nothing else, the independent groups like Global Justice and Interpol will be able to refuse to ever do anything with you again. And if you kill one of them because they getting in your way—"

The woman reached out and grabbed Anne's wrist—

Their eyes burned at each other—

Then the man, in a voice as hard and cold as stone, said in a tone which could only be described as 'deadly', "and I hope you realize the amount of security violations you are flaunting Doctor. We could termin—" and he left the word to hang for a moment before continuing in only a little less tighter tone. "We could . . . arrest you and everyone you've communicated about this with, including whoever your so-called 'visitor' is. This is so far out of your 'right-to-know/need-to-know' envelope that you . . . and your associates including your daughter and her boyfriend, would never again see the light of day."

Anne didn't even look at the man, her eyes still locked in a death dual with the woman. "Well, as of about twenty minutes ago, I had a Zulu Golf authorization from 'Redoubt' herself," and Anne took satisfaction in seeing the woman's eyes widen just enough to be perceptible. So she added a little fuel to the fire with, "and my visitor . . . they have a Zulu Prime, authorized by 'Top' at the request of "Redoubt' in order to get to the bottom of whatever it is that 'Redoubt' was not briefed on—"

"You are out of your mind," the woman breathed as shock finally managed to register—

So Anne hit them with the final blow—

"And, armed with that, I'm telling you that anything," Anne said in a voice which was as murderous at the woman's had been, "happens to me, or my family, or my daughter and her boyfriend or any of our other friends or family, my visitor, whom you might know as 'Leathered Lace', will be calling accounts due."

Despite it all, a surge of not only new shock, but surprise and consternation flashed through the woman's eyes. After a moment, she released Anne wrist . . . and a moment later, Anne stepped back away from the door—

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The Hospital Director and Chief of Medicine looked in shock at the couple that stormed past them headed toward the exit. The man had a phone handset up to his ear from a large portable unit that the agent know as Smith was carrying next to him—

The mans tones were low, but the Directors hearing aid was on high from trying to catch some of the multiple conversations around him and he heard, "inform all sections that we are in Comm mode Fox Three. Tell them that another group has again compromised the system and not to respond to any inquires, especially if they're from a central node—"

The Director frowned but then shook his head. Any of their business was none of his as long as they got out of his hospital and things got back to normal. This incident was costing money and he was in enough trouble with the board over the budget as it was.

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Bonnie had almost made herself sick. The fact that her stomach (as well as the rest of her digestive tract) was in knots over her situation didn't help with the fact that after having very limited hospital food for so long, her system wasn't ready for a greasy Bueno Nacho breakfast. There was also very limited air coming through the passenger compartment through barely cracked windows and she felt hot and stuffy.

Tara had 'borrowed' her parents van on the pretext that an early morning call on her cellphone had told her that Liz's parents van had broken down and a replacement was needed to truck all the cheerleaders sound gear to a demonstration at the West Side Mall that evening. So, since Tara's arrival at school a couple of hours earlier, Bonnie had been sitting on the floor in the rear, making sure that she was out of sight, a blanket at hand to cover herself with should anybody get close enough to look in.

Tara had brought her the Bueno Nacho during first break, arranging for one of the other girls to bring it to school for her. So it was cold and congealed when Bonnie had gotten it but she had been starving. At the same time, Tara brought some very interesting news.

"Kim and Ron are looking for Carla as well. They're not saying why and their being very discreet about it, but that look in Kim's eye—"

Bonnie, for reasons unknown to her, suddenly felt a stab of pure fear run through her . . . and she couldn't even guess at who of what it should be directed too. "What did you say to them?" she asked Tara with a tremor in her voice.

Tara gave a brief wag of her head as she was already getting back out of the van lest she be spotted. "I didn't say anything. I haven't run into them. But I've heard this from all the other girls."

"Then what—?" Bonnie started to say.

Tara just shrugged as she got ready to close the door. "I don't know, but if I had to guess, considering what Carla has on you and on all the other girls, that Kim and Ron think that she has information. Maybe about Monique and what happened in her store, maybe about Felix since a couple of the girls in the posse have parents working at the space center. The drift that everyone is getting is that they want to talk to Carla real bad but they also want to catch her off guard, maybe before she can get a cover story together."

With that Tara had left. Now the Bueno Nacho was cold and congealed inside of her, and it and this new information only added to the gnawing fear that Bonnie was fighting, jumping at every little sound that she head—

And she was going to have to go to the bathroom at some point—

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Dr James Possible opened one very bleary and still somewhat bloodshot eye . . . brain taking just about forever to realize that he was in his own bed . . . and even longer to make the connection that he was alone in it.

But something was tickling at his senses . . . and that took even longer to get processed.

He finally realized that he could hear his wife outside the bedroom talking to someone, and that he could somewhat hear the other voice, but while it was sooo familiar, he couldn't place it—

He dozed, and was just starting to drift back into sleep when he felt the bed move.

The eye was again forced open, to see his wife sitting fully clothed on the edge of her side, just reaching over to caress the top of his head.

After several moments of effort, he managed, "who—?"

"Shhuuusshhhh!" was his wife's gentle reply as she now leaned over to give him a soft peck. "Don't worry about it dear. Just a changing of the guard."

"But who—" James Possible again attempted.

"Go back to sleep," Anne Possible said into his ear with loving forcefulness. "Doctors orders doctor. You'll know soon enough. We have a houseguest. Nothing you need to worry about."

James started to try to push himself up. "I need to get back to the center. It's not fair that I 'm lying here when Felix's mom is going crazy—"

"Dear?" said his wife with clear concern.

He laid a hand on her thigh. "Please honey, I know that you're worried. But . . . " and he let it hang after that.

Anne Possible's face betrayed her emotions. But considering all the loads she was carrying, could she deny his?

"I'll start something for your breakfast," was all she said and she leaned in long enough to kiss the top of his head.

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Tara was convinced that everyone at school was staring at her, trying to look over her shoulder or otherwise convince themselves that she was hiding something—

And just a sideways out-of-the-corner-of-her-eye glimpse of anyone wearing real dark clothing was enough for her to almost squeal in fight.

At the same time that she was trying not to be seen or noticed, she was also trying to find someone, and doing both at the same time was just—

_Jenny on 'AKA-Also Known As' always made it seem so easy,_ Tara thought. _I mean, how hard could it be to find someone in a place the size of school and yet not have anyone know that you were trying to—_

At that moment Tara's eyes went wide in surprise and alarm as she spotted . . . and it was all she could do not to turn and run—for she had been trying her best to avoid her all day and now she was caught—

"Hi Tara."

Tara at that moment, felt herself go totally blond. "Ah—ah—oh—um."

Kim Possible looked at the Captain of the Middleton Cheer Squad, her face momentarily filled with surprise at that same Captains inability to responded to a simple greeting.

"Tara?" Kim said with a slowness filled with genuine concern. "Are you alright?"

"Gotta go," was all Tara could manage and it came out as a squeak as she suddenly pivoted and tried not to run for her very life.

Kim stood, attempting to not let her jaw fall at the actions of her friend. She then looked down at herself trying to figure out if something was wrong with _her_ that had driven her friend away.

Then Kim jerked upright, everything going stiff with shock as—

A long forgotten multi-tone beeped out of her pants pockets.

With a squeal of too many emotions to register, Kim snatched the Kimmunicator out and said the words that she hadn't said in far too long—

"Wade, what's the sitch?"

The young geniuses face came onto her screen with a grin that looked like it could break his face. "Ah, music to my ears," Wade sighed as a dreamy look came over him.

Kim's face broke into a matching grin which carried to her own, "right back at cha Wade."

Wade's face sobered into a serious look. "I'm only back up locally Kim. The damage to the web was too great to fix in any short order and it will take a bunch of us plus a whole lot of ISP companies and web organizations some time to get it back the way it was."

Kim's face was equally serious. "I understand Wade. But I also want you to know how—"

The smile was back on the boys face as he held out a stopping hand. "I heard all about your care and concern from my mom Kim. I can't thank you—"

"And whither you want to hear it or not, I'm trying to tell you Mr. Load that I missed you terribly and was so worried—"

Wades hand shoved at her a little harder, the smile dropping from his face as his true feelings, the worry and the guilt flashed through. "Don't Kim. I also know how bad it was for you . . . and I wasn't there to be able to help. I feel . . . I mean I know that I wasn't in a position to help and all but—"

"Not so the drama Wade," Kim said firmly. "It's over and done. I survived, thanks to Ron. And I think I'm stronger than I was before because of it."

The two of them just looked at each other for a long moment, unspoken words flowing through their link of friendship—

"Anyway," Wade finally broke off, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, "Ron did say that you guys had some clues to work. I'll do what I can but as I said, the web is still a mess. In fact it seemed to get worse about a half an hour ago. Almost like someone is suppressing it again."

Kim's eyes narrowed. "Any idea who?"

Wade gave one of his uncomfortable shrugs. "That's what's so funny. I . . . acquired a few new . . . doors to all the government banks during my . . . visit to . . . wherever it was that they took me. But they slammed closed as I said, about thirty minutes ago and it seems to be spreading out from there. I'm not sure if they've received information that they're about to be attacked again; but I don't understand why it's branching out to disrupt the rest of the web. It looks exactly like a deliberate attempt to shut down all communication across the net."

Kim's frown deepened. "Can you find out?"

An unhappy look came to the boys face. "I've been trying, as have others, but look at it from the aspect that we're already one third deaf and half blind and it's getting worse by the minute."

A startled look came to Kim's face and an instant decision was made. "Wade, while you still have some time, we need everything you can get on Carla Ethome. Ron and I think she's Shego's connection to Middleton High but we need proof."

That old look that Kim had missed so much of focused determination came over the young mans face. "Gottcha," Wade said firmly, his fingers already flying over the keys. "I'll make it top priority. Let you know as soon as I find something."

Kim's grin was back. "You rock Wade."

Wades eyes didn't leave his monitor, but with a choked sounding voice, he said softly, "and you gotta know how much I missed hearing that."

It was with a certain feeling of contentment and the regaining once again, of lost self, that Kim shoved the Kimmunicator into her pocket. Then a slight frown crossed her face as she once again considered Tara's strange behavior and she wondered just for a moment if she should go and try to find her friend again.

But _her_ priorities took control. As it was, Kim was already working her way through the school halls every moment she could spare in a search for another quarry. Now, with Wade back in play, it was even more important that she find and get a lock on Carla Ethome. She wanted to be in position to move on the girl the moment that Wade came back with the connection that she and Ron was sure was there.

Kim fought with the thought. The desire was there to see, whenever Carla was found, for her to . . . well, just say she wanted to get some of her own back from one of the ones responsible for her past hell—

But she was trying to work herself past that, she was trying to get herself back on the straight and narrow of what she always had been and what she expected herself to be. But . . . it was hard. And . . . a tiny portion of herself wanted to disregard it—

And Kim was a little fearful of which side would prevail when the moment came—

She would have to make sure that Ron was with her at that moment.


	28. DDay Eve Afternoon

The tension in Global Justices underground headquarters; deep in the caverns under Middleton Colorado was so thick it could be cut with the round edge of schedule 40 pipe. GJ's head, known by her two separate titles merged into a name was standing mid-way around the huge conference table, arms crossed, her one good eye putting out enough of a glare to make up for the other one that was missing.

Extra emphasis was added in the form of a second glare, coming from the small, pink form that was riding on her shoulder, arms also crossed, black, beady eyes giving out a _glare_ that seemed to have more power that was humanly (or inhumanly for that matter) possible.

Now, in a tone that was as frosty as her look, Doctor Director said, "we are deaf, dumb and blind again, after all indications were that all threats to 3C were eliminated. Call me paranoid but I think that there is more—"

"As has been said before Doctor," said a _very_ stressed Agent Smith, "I'm afraid that your feelings, or that of any of the rest of you in this room, is moot. You have your instructions to follow the orders of our superiors, and all of you know that we are in hard-crisis mode with the possible end of life on our planet ready to be implemented at any time."

Agent Smith turned and jabbed a finger at the stone-faced, gray haired man who wore a nameplate bearing his name and the logo of his organization. "You're people have Ethome tied up in a web where he can't even cough without you knowing about it. Get your people in, scoop him up and _break_ him. Do whatever you have too to find out where 'Madman Blue' is. We _know_ he's in Middleton, NORAD without even realizing it tracked his flyer here before it was lost in ground clutter and it hasn't left."

The gray haired man, his face firm and steady, leaned back and regarded the agent with an angry eye before saying, "what your asking the FBI to do is beyond what even the Patriot Act allows. Yes, the world is teetering on the brink, but if we save it, Saul Ethome will make it well known in all the circles he has influence in both in and outside of the law, exactly what happened to him." And the gray haired mans eyes got harder. "Unless you plan to make him and his daughter disappear . . . "

Now the glare was coming from Agent Smith and he started to open his mouth but the gray haired man beat him to it. "As far as I'm concerned," he said angrily, "saving the world is not worth selling out me and my peoples morals and integrity the way you and yours does every time you take an assignment. You want Ethome; have your agency take him and do what has to be done. And I'll make sure that the powers that be know that."

"Do you," said the 'other' Agent Smith who was seated beside his standing partner, "want to end up at the wrong end of the 'powers that be? They won't brook any impediment of what we're doing. And that's exactly what you're doing."

The gray haired man flushed but then his face stiffened. "I'll take the chance. A stand has to be taken somewhere against what you people have been doing. You brought us into this and I think all of us realize that you did it to give your own organization the plausible deniability. You normally operate so far in the black where no one sees you or knows your there and the victims or the collateral damage can only be blamed on 'the mob' or 'terrorists' or 'the government' or 'an act of God'. But this has, for whatever reason you wanted, forced you into the light—"

"I think that's enough," the standing Agent Smith said with a voice that would brook no nonsense.

"I think you've said enough," Doctor Director said in an equal tone. "If things are as close to Doomsday as you say, this isn't time for the fancy political maneuvering of interagency warfare. I'm cutting Global Justice _out_ of your authority and doing what should have been done all along, bring in Team Possible and get the threat _stopped_! Your county and government can sort out its petty problems afterwards."

The sitting Agent Smith's head now came around to look at the Director with a basilisk's glare of his own. "Do that," the agent said in a voice that was almost firm and positive, but also held just a hint of trepidation at the fact that he was taking on one who was in fact, a 'power' in and of herself, "and Global Justice will be named a terrorist organization and all its members and facilities in the United States will be seized."

Doctor Director unfolded her arms, leaned down onto the table with her palms flat, looked the agent right in the eye, "at least the world will be around for that to happen. And I'm sure that our supporters in your government will make their own feelings strongly known to counter you sanctions, as will all your 'allies' and 'treaty partners'. Your county is in enough hot water internationally as it is. I really don't think—"

The standing Agent Smith, who now had a look on his face that spoke of his own inner turmoil managed to get out without strangling on his own words, "our superiors have told us to advise you of a status Delta Echo advisement. That is, if you call in Team Possible, my superiors have ordered that they be terminated with extreme prejudice as interfering with a Code Delta operation."

Every eye in the room, save for the two agents Smith, went wide in shock at that pronouncement. There was a long period of heavy silence.

Then the gray haired man took a deep breath and managed with a strangled tone. "I will not confront and violate Saul Ethome in the manner you want without express authorization from the Director of my agency. And being that for some reason, we have lost all secure communications with Washington—" He paused for a moment as if tasting a decision that brought a very foul flavor to his mouth. "But we will," he said finally, "search his residence and office for the information you need."

In response, the seated Agent Smith growled, "you'd better hope that you find what we need—"

The threat was left hanging.

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Tara's cell had vibrated with a message while she was in her last class of the day. She of course couldn't answer and had to wait until she was let out. Once she was out of the door of the classroom, Tara immediately checked the message—

And turned as pale as an albino.

She then turned and bolted out of the hallway—

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Kim was feeling . . . a little annoyed. She and Ron had skipped lunch to scour the campus looking for Carla, coming up empty handed. Kim knew that the girl had to be somewhere because her tricked-out car had been and was still in the student parking lot. But other than homeroom, no one had seen the notorious posse leader all day.

As Kim came out of her last class, she turned toward her locker where she was supposed to meet Ron. Ahead of her she realized was Tara, about two classrooms away, just in the process of bringing her cell to her ear. Kim changed gears, determined to find out just what had happened earlier with her friend—

Then Tara turned as white as a sheet and bolted—

"Tara?!?" Kim managed as the blond shot right past her at a dead run. But Tara didn't appear to even notice her. _Enough of this,_ Kim said to herself in an exasperated tone. She turned and trotted off after her friend, mindful of the possibility of Barkin lurking about, ready to pounce on 'hallway speed violation', something that obviously had fled Tara's mind.

Kim came out of the building, looking about, just catching a glimpse of Tara sprinting around the corner of the gym toward the student parking lot. Kim weaved her way down the walkway through other students to the edge of the lot reaching the same point where she had last seen her friend—

Kim now saw Tara standing over in the far corner of the lot, looking around frantically, _did she find out that her 'rents car got stolen or something_, Kim thought in wonder. She knew that Tara didn't normally drive her 'rents car, but Kim had seen it in the lot earlier when checking on Carla's car, and Kim could think of no other explanation for her friends strange actions. Kim started over toward her—

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Tara didn't know what to do or think. The message from her mother that her parents had forgotten that the van had been scheduled for maintenance work so her mother and older sibling had come to pick it up, leaving the message for the teen that other arrangements would have to be made for the cheerleaders sound equipment—

_What had happened to Bonnie?_ Tara screamed silently to herself. There was no way that the van could have been taken without her mother or sibling finding the other girl. There would have been another call. And since there hadn't been, Tara could only figure that Bonnie had left the van—

Which could only mean—

_Bonnie spotted Carla and went after her—_

Alone!

Tara in her frantic looking around turned her head enough to see Kim coming—

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Kim saw that Tara actually _looked_ at her, saw her. It then appeared as if she actually went paler. Tara turned and dashed off into the shop area.

"TARA! WAIT!" Kim called only to be apparently ignored again.

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Bonnie in fact, had been finally overwhelmed by the Bueno Nachos and forced to seek a secluded bathroom. The best one was the one at the rear of the shop area. It was normally locked if the shop area was shut down as on Fridays in order to keep, 'any unauthorized activity of an illegal or immoral nature' (according to Barkin) from occurring. But the 'bad' kids (of which Bonnie had been a Queen of) knew about the broken transom window lock and the way to get into it via the custodians outside storage lockers. She'd had to be careful as she climbed through it in this instance lest she have . . . a very embarrassing accident—

But she managed to make it and conduct her business. Her face screwed up however as she did so for she could just faintly hear voices coming from the special-ed van garage next door. She knew that there shouldn't be anyone in there right now so she concluded that it had to be some other students cutting class.

Anyway, having finished her requirements, she went back out the window and as stealthily as she could, headed back towards the student parking lot—

Only to see Tara's mom getting into the van and driving off in it.

Bonnie stood in shock and fear for maybe five seconds . . . before the sound of approaching fellow students drove her back into the shop area.

She immediately got a grip on herself, trying to work through a plan. The same bathroom she had just used was 'out' as there was a real possibility that some couple would end up in there for 'immoral purposes' (as she had all too often). There was the van garage . . . but she had heard someone already in there.

But it was really her only choice. Going beyond that would leave her in sight of anybody around the stadium/track/ball field until she got to the woods. But, if she could just get into the garage, there was an area where she would be hidden from the rest of the bay . . . and since she could hear whoever was already in there, they were already way back in the far corner from the doors.

Bonnie had already made the decision and was moving carefully and quietly to where moments later, she was in a stealthy half crouch, moving past the far end of the doors, her head moving as if on a swivel.

Bonnie was just slipping into the gap between the storage bins and the wall when from across the bay came a faint cackle—

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Tara was torn so many ways. Seeing Kim coming after her . . . she was so grateful that her red-headed friend was concerned enough to try and catch her, but at the same time terrified that Kim would catch her and demand an explanation—

And Tara could not, would not lie to her—

And all Hades would break loose—

And what had happened to Bonnie?

But first, she had to lose Kim. Tara hated the thought of violating her responsibilities, but this was a real emergency. She pulled out the school master key that Whitler had given her earlier to assist in getting the cheer squad equipment ready and she used it to slip into the auto shop classroom adjacent to the van garage where she could wait until Kim had given up.

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Kim hesitated before going into the shop area. She needed to know what was going on with Tara, but her instincts were sounding as well. After a moment, she turned around and started to trot back toward the student lot. She would rendezvous with Ron first and in mission mode (or as close to it as Ron's battered body would allow), they would check the shop area. There was something there tweaking her . . . and if nothing else, the last couple of months had taught her to trust her instincts.

Just as she trusted her life partner to watch her back while she did so.

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Bonnie crawled like an animal around the cases, equipment and clutter that made up the interior wall of the van garage. In other ways she felt like an animal as well, although the reality of the moment was that she wasn't sure of just what she was feeling. On one hand, she felt herself getting ready for the attack that had been brought on when she had realized that faint cackling laugh she had heard belonged to none other than Carla Ethome. On the other hand, the fear inherent in the unknown, of the reality that she could be the prey instead of the hunter and as the old man had said, that her death was just around the corner from which the cackle had come.

What was Carla doing here anyway? That was the big part of the unknown that had Bonnie confused and frightened.

Bonnie had just dropped down behind a rollaway tool chest when abruptly, several figures walked around from the rear corner. It was a couple of the gang girls and they were just in the process of lighting either cigarettes or joints (at this distance Bonnie couldn't tell and the odor of oil and tools where she was at masked out any other odors).

The two gang girls had reached the doors when Carla herself came around the far corner. She was frowning and moving slowly as she was punching information into a PDA. When she was halfway to the doors, she stopped completely and started muttering swear words as an apparent response was viewed with disfavor. In the meantime, the gang girls had left through the doors.

Bonnie wasn't aware that she was holding her breath as she started to move with the smooth, silent flowing grace of the ballerina that she was. She wasn't really religious, but at the moment she was praying and asking for all she could get knowing that she'd need every single bit of it to slay her monster—

Carla Ethome.

If her monster, a tough street-savvy mobsters daughter from New Jersey didn't slay her first.

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"Hey KP," Ron said with a bright tone despite the fact that after a long, trying day at school, he now looked like refried road kill, "where you been?"

Kim reached out and grabbed his nearest hand in both of hers and rapidly told him what was going on. Ron's face turned puzzled, then thoughtful. "You know KP, the shop area is the only place we didn't look for Ethome. But it _is_ a major ditch spot on Fridays."

Kim blinked at this information. Of course, any thought or concept of ditching class was totally alien to her and she would have ignored or forgotten anything pertaining to such.

But Ron on the other hand.

As she shifted his hand in hers and started to pull him after her, "come on Ron. We have to check it quick before Carla leaves if she is there, or Tara runs into her and trouble if she is—"

But the two of them came to a sudden crashing halt coinciding with the bellow—

"Possible! Stoppable! PDA hand holding! My office! Now!"

Imagine two deer's-in-the-headlights.

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Carla Ethome was cursing to make a New Jersey stevedore proud. She had spent the day in this safe zone conducting necessary business because of the sudden apparent increase of surveillance her father and his activities had received over the past week. Her parent was at a loss for why the Feds were so interested when most of the times nowadays, their priorities where towards terrorists instead of honest non-law-abiding businessmen. But Carla, who was busy diversifying her own operations lest her father get taken down, was trying her best to distance herself from him.

The fact that, and this is what she was cursing about at the moment, a 'sponsor' and financer who had been funneling money to a special account already set up for Carla under an umbrella and AKA, had again failed to make a deposit into it.

It wasn't that she didn't trust the 'sponsor' (at least as much as any trust went within the underworld). But after two missed deposits, she had to wonder if the 'sponsor' had maybe been taken out. Carla had not been oblivious to the presence of the People in Black on campus or the activity on the WEB and other signs and indicators any well bred criminal heir was educated in, and now she had to wonder if maybe the two factors were connected and that maybe she and her father ought too—

But that would mean admitting to her father that her own operations had gone wwayyyy beyond what he had approved of. And that could prove to be . . . difficult. She needed more information and she needed it quickly. Carla activated the special communications feature of her PDA in order to contact the—

Normally the slight slip of a foot on the dusty concrete floor would have been enough to warn Carla, but she was in admin mode and had felt that this was a safe enough place due to the fact that the van crews were only in the garage in the early morning when they were getting ready to go out and in the late afternoons after their runs—

Stars exploded in Carla's eyes as the blow caught her square in the back of her head. Her PDA went flying in one direction, her backpack which had been slung over her free shoulder went in another and it was all she could do to get her hands out in front of her to keep her face from smashing flat into the concrete as she went down.

But this wasn't the first time she had even been ambushed although unlike the back alleys and trashed school halls of lower New Jersey, she had never expected it in a pathetic hopeless burg like Middleton and her defense and survival instincts flared into full life. She immediately rolled to the side lest her assailant stomp on her once she was down and despite her disorientation and spangled vision, she was able to roll again and get her feet under her, backpedaling frantically to get some distance from her attacker in order to regroup and get an evaluation of the situation—unless her attacker was a pro and didn't give her the time or opportunity.

But her attacker wasn't a pro, for Carla was able to get her feet under her and her vision and head cleared and she saw who was before her . . . and while there was surprise and consternation and disbelief—

"You've _got_ to be kidding," Carla almost cackled again.

Carla's cackle coincided with the bell ending last period. Carla's face narrowed. She would have to end this fast lest other kids come by the garage to grab a smoke or a quick piece before heading off campus.

She moved in.

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A/N. Okay, coming up next and right along with The Education of Kim Possible and Shego's Story, is the 'other' main reason for this stories existence in this writers eyes, the main pivot point that everything was written for and around . . . I hope that you will all enjoy - The 3Rs of Rockwaller.


	29. The 3Rs of Rockwaller Pt1 Revenge

A/N. I got a lot done this last weekend which allowed me to draw ahead on this story and get many things straightened out. But as I will be gone the next two weekends, things will slow down again. But for the moment, I can post what is ready—

And hope you enjoy.

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It was with a certain sense of relief that Chief Program Checker of the Middleton Space Centers MINDMEGRE team looked up to see a grim faced Dr. Possible, a haunted Dr Renton and an angry and determined Director Wong walk into his office. Of course the sense of relief was overwhelmed with the sense that he was about to loose his job if not his freedom, let alone what the possible consequences to his family and especially his entrapped daughter—

"We need to talk Goody," was all Director Wong said.

He nodded and with a heavy sigh, having rehearsed this moment in his head since the day of the incident. "Yes we do. But I think we should have the FBI . . . and my lawyer present when we do." He then hesitated a moment longer before reaching into his desk drawer as he said, "but before we do that—"

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Bonnie knew that the sudden, sneaky-from-behind attack that she had launched on Carla Ethome would probably be held in contempt by others . . . but it had been a symptom of her barely controlled internal terror at this moment. She wasn't a physical fighter by nature, doing all her battles through her hard-edged, abrasive verbal and catty, pseudo-superior social skills. Queen of the put down, that was her.

But now, she was choosing off someone who had all the traits of an experienced street fighter. For a nano-second she wished that she had some of Kim's skills and ability.

But Bonnie found her focus the way that she always did when encountering danger—

By becoming a bitch!

And they don't wait to be attacked, they get it in first!

Bonnie, with a speed that shocked and startled Carla, dropped down into a crouch and sprang forward into the other inrushing girl, driving her head into Carla's gut. The fact that it painfully jammed Bonnie's neck down onto her spine was countered by her ears hearing the 'whoosh' of Carla's breath as it was driven out of her.

But Carla countered by wrapping her arms around Bonnie's middle and she folded over the back of the bigger girl, pulling her down, twisting as she did so, so that Bonnie was going under Carla as the two of them hit the concrete.

Carla, being mostly on top was again able to twist about, get in over Bonnie, and despite the fact that the angle was poor and it was at the end of her reach, Carla managed to start pounding at Bonnie's face with one fist.

Bonnie had come down on top of one of her arms, the other crushed and captured as Carla came down on top of it. As Bonnie tried to roll away from the blows striking the 'up' side of her head, she found that she couldn't for she only managed to twist that trapped arm behind her own back—

So Bonnie kicked the whole of her body around into Carla, upsetting the precarious balance for both of them in that position. Carla fell back, having to stop herself with her other arm from going all the way over, freeing Bonnie's arm—

Bonnie immediately flipped herself in to face Carla, swinging her other arm, trying for the other girls nose . . . but Carla saw it and started to duck (as much as her position would allow) so the Bonnie's fist caught the other girl on the temple.

The blow rang Carla's head. She'd forgotten just how strong Bonnie would have to be to do all those cheerleader lifts and moves and despite the fact that Bonnie had been involuntarily bed ridden for weeks, there was the strength of desperation—

Carla went pure street and reached out with her near hand to claw at Bonnie's nose and eyes with her nails. Bonnie jerked away, again with her reactions and speed, rolling herself bodily away.

The two combatants now scrambled back to their feet. Carla, with the better position going into the move, was up and again charged into Bonnie, intending to drive her back into the ground with herself on top in order to deliver a pounding—

But Bonnie was just lurching to her feet when Carla hit her and they sort of tilted to fall sideways only to run out of room as the pair, now locked together, slammed into the garage wall.

Carla started to rain body blows with both hands as she tired to disengage, but Bonnie had her by the back of her blouse and she released one hand from it to pound down on Carla's shoulders and head—

Carla reached out with both hands, grabbing the knee that Bonnie had the majority of her weight on and dug in with all her fingers/nails as she yanked at it hard.

Bonnie tilted sideways as she went down with a strangled cry of pain which was almost immediately drowned out by the crash and clatter as with one wildly swinging arm, Bonnie sent the coffee maker on the table right next to them flying—

Carla pulled back as she got loose but immediately went back in, kicking with all her might at the taller girl as she finished tumbling to the floor, going for the head and chest.

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Tara, who had just in the process of nestling down quietly against the wall in the auto shop, jerked her head up with a start at the distant but unmistakable crash echoed through the silent room. Her face then frowned in puzzlement. She really didn't associate the noise with Bonnie, but after a moment, considering that obviously something was wrong, she decided to check the Special Ed van garage. She could do so without Kim seeing her via the connecting door and it would only take a minute to make sure everything was all right.

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Bonnie's mouth was full of blood and she thought that she had at least one loose tooth from the single good kick that Carla had gotten in. Bonnie had her head wrapped up in her arms and she was continually twisting and rolling on the ground to try to give the other girl a poor target. But Bonnie was beginning to get winded, her enforced period of inactivity affecting her—

But Carla was doing even worse, having done everything that she could do to avoid PE or any other kind of physical activity on top of the head blow from Bonnie that had knocked most of the wind out of her. Carla was panting like an overheated dog and was rapidly slowing her attack. In fact she—

Bonnie was at last able to roll away, Carla just not caring to follow. As Bonnie did so, the floor where she had been was smeared with blood, which matched the chest, shoulders and arms of the sweatshirt provided by the strange old man. Bonnie made it to her hands and knees with one leg up as if to get to her feet. But when she saw that Carla wasn't following, she took a moment to snort and spit even more blood out onto the floor beneath her.

Bonnie's ears with ringing, her vision was spinning. She felt sick to her stomach from blood swallowed as her nose was plugged with it as well and she was having to pant herself—

But not near any degree that Carla was as she was half hunched over with her hands on her knees and her head down. But after a moment Carla looked back up and their eyes locked—

They both sprang at each other but again Bonnie was the quicker, seeing and dodging just to the side of Carla's headlong rush. Carla grabbed at Bonnie's clothing as she went by meaning to swing them both about and off balance, intending to take the bigger cheerleader down to the ground . . . but Bonnie smacked a hard elbow strike right into Carla's ear as they passed and again the chunkier girls head 'clanged' like a gong. Carla lost her grip and staggered sideways, her hands going to her ears . . . and she stepped into the smeared blood from Bonnie's mouth on the floor and that foot went out from under her—

Carla cried out as she went down like a young colt with it's legs splayed out in all directions. Calf, leg, knee, thigh and hip muscles/joints/ligaments all sprang, pulled and tweaked as they were all twisted in the wrong directions. Her torso, carried down with the rest of her body toppled and slammed into the floor—

Carla had the presence of mind to keep her hands up around her head to protect it as her body finished crashing down. She again tried to immediately roll, and found that her body didn't want to and she forced it to do so even as those tortured body parts screamed their protest. She was able to lurch to her knees, her arms coming out in front of her to block a kick that Bonnie aimed at her head.

Bonnie backed off, dropping into what she hoped was a ready crouch, looking for an opening to strike again but fearful of what she had seen in movies and TV of kicking out at someone and having Carla catch and trap the extended leg.

Carla stumbled up onto her feet and staggered sideways to distance herself from the muck on the floor, her arms flailing about for balance.

Bonnie charged—

And Carla stood her ground, allowing Bonnie to plow into her but twisting her body to center her gravity and as the two of them rocked back, Carla twisted again and smashed a full fisted blow into the side of Bonnie's head which snapped painfully sideways.

A white, incandescent explosion went off behind Bonnie's eyes causing the world to dim. She frantically tried to wrap herself around the smaller girl, if for no other reason than to stay on her feet—

Carla then kneed her in the groin even as the smaller girl twisted out of Bonnie's embrace and as Bonnie started to drop to the ground, Carla kneed her again in the stomach while pulling herself away with a final short jab with her other hand that caught Bonnie in the side of her jaw on the other side of her face.

More blood blossomed into Bonnie's mouth and she swallowed it in a gulp as she tired to breathe—

Immediately she staggered away choking, almost puking—

Carla, puffing like a bellows, stepped in, over to the side, trying to get in behind and from the side, slammed an open palm into the back/base of Bonnie's head—

Bonnie's mouth snapped shut as the blow rocked her head forward—

She thought she had bitten off the end of her tongue—

Even as she was going down and her stomach was coming up, in desperation, Bonnie swung wildly about, putting her whole torso/shoulders into her outstretched arm, out and around as _hard_ as she could, putting _all_ her strength and speed into it—

The clenched fist of the massive backhand attempt caught Carla square in the cheek; her nose splattered blood and her body forward motion stopped as if it had run into a brick wall.

Carla barely managed to stay on her feet, but she reeled backwards and around into a wobbled pirouette as the prior pain/damage to her legs threatened to take her down . . . the pain in her face totally blinding her to all else—

Bonnie _was_ down, on her hands and knees, puking what little was in her stomach (mostly the blood she has swallowed and the remains of the Bueno Nacho meal). But she didn't give in to it and she was trying to get back on her feet for she saw through dim, blurry eyes just how stunned and out of it Carla was and Bonnie knew that she had to press her advantage while she could—

If Bonnie could strike now, she could slay this demon, she knew she could!

Then, it seemed like the sun exploded behind her eyes—


	30. The 3Rs of Rockwaller Pt2 Redemption

In a well-lighted room on the east coast, a group of females, dressed in black clothing were monitoring various computer screens and monitors of other types. Their voices low and controlled to the point that all that was really heard was a murmur. At the head of the group of consoles, an attractive blond was intently both watching her monitor and listening (with one hand pressing the earbug tightly into her ear). Suddenly, an eyebrow raised, threatening to climb through her forehead. Cocking her head to one side, her other hand reached out and started tapping on a secondary keyboard—

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Tara wanted to panic, if for no other reason than it might be heard and bring help. But she clamped a lid on it and desperately tried to start thinking of something that would do _something_ to—

She had quietly come through the connecting door from the auto shop into the rear storage area of the van garage. She'd immediately heard voices, angry and shrill, familiar to her but garbled by the echoes in the garage and the baffle effect of being in the back bay.

When she had made it up to where she could see out, her heart by then had locked into ice for she had recognized the voice and when the words became clear enough for her to understand, her stomach was in her throat.

The sight of it made her legs weak—

Bonnie was across the garage and down on her knees, the lower part of her face and much of the front of her clothing covered in blood. Bonnie's head was lolling about as if she was only partially conscious and if it wasn't for the two gang girls who were holding her up by her outstretched arms, Tara doubted that Bonnie would have been able to be upright at all.

Carla Ethome was sitting on the side of her butt out in front of Bonnie, her head thrown back as she too had a face covered in blood that had splashed all over her white top and she was now trying her best to stem the flow. Every few moments she would cough or spit, followed by a profane tirade directed at Bonnie.

Tara knew that she had to get help and her hand was in her pocket fishing for her cell phone. But she knew that she would have to back out of the bay . . . go somewhere a good way away to use it in order to make sure that she wasn't overheard by Carla or one of the gang girls . . .

And she just couldn't leave Bonnie in the position she was in, even to get help. She had to do _something_—

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Carla managed to finally lurch to her feet, one hand still pressed firmly against her nose. The two gang girls, who fortunately for her, had been standing over at the edge of the field finishing their cigarettes, had noticed that she hadn't come out of the garage and had started back, only to hear the crash of the coffer maker. They had come in, seeing the fight, and true to their roughhewn ways, had just watched it until it appeared that Rockwaller was getting the upper hand. At that point they had stepped up behind Rockwaller and kicked her in the back of her head—

And now Carla was enraged almost to the point of insanity. For the gang girls would think (and as much as Carla did not want to admit to herself) that she had been loosing the fight against a _cheerleader_ and the damage to her rep, street cred and ego was more than Carla could handle.

There was only one way to restore what had been damage.

Carla stumbled over to where Bonnie was being held upright and _smacked_ Bonnie across the face with an bloody open hand. Carla did it again, and again and . . . she forced herself to stop there before her rage overtook her. She wanted her opponent awake first.

Bonnie's nose was now bleeding as well, the stream liberally dribbling down her lips and chin to shower down onto her sweat top or the floor. Heedless of the running blood, Carla grabbed Bonnie by the chin and yanked her head upwards—

"Wake up," Carla screamed, sounding as if her control was held by a thread. She violently shook Bonnie's head. "Wake Up!"

One of the gang girls reached in and found the pressure points on Bonnie's neck . . . and with a cry of agony, the pain forced the cheerleader come into a resemblance of being awake. Carla held Bonnie's head watching her eyes, waiting until they managed to clear somewhat and finally focus on her enraged face—

"You are _dead_ bitch!" Carla snarled. "I am going to _kill_ you, right here and now. But first you're going to feel _pain_ for daring to attack me." And Carla reared back and kicked Bonnie _hard_ in the groin. Bonnie's body tried to fold in reaction to the blow but she was held up by her arms in the gang members hands. But it was somewhat fortunate that she was able to fold over as much as she did for Carla then _slammed_ a knee into her face which actually hit her forehead, missing her nose/eyes that had been the intended target—

But Bonnie again almost lost consciousness as the force of the blow tore her arms out of the gang girl's hands and she was knocked backwards on the concrete floor. In fact, it was only the new pain, as Carla kicked her violently at her legs and butt that kept Bonnie conscious . . .

Bonnie focused on the pain—

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At an undisclosed location – in a nameless motel room—

The handsome, charismatic face of the Man In Black was neutral as he held the handset of the 'secure' telephone unit to his ear. His eyes were looking at the motel room wall without seeing it as his mind was operating with its usual lightning efficiency on multiple levels.

"Are you sure that you want to do this sir?" came the polite but firm words into the handset.

The Woman In Black was sitting on the bed before him, eyes firmly focused on him but her face twisted into a fearsome and deadly smile of triumph. She had a headphone held up to one ear and a similar handset held up to the other ear and there was a sense of electric excitement about her.

"Very well sir, orders to terminate with extreme prejudice will be carried out as directed." The Man In Black then hung up the 'secure' units handset, his eyes going to the woman before him with a patient question in his eyes.

With the hanging up of his handset, the Woman In Black put down the headphone she had had, now solely concentrating on the other even as her eyes looked at the man in front of her with evil anticipation.

It seemed that several minutes passed, then she said softly into the remaining handset, "yes sir?" She listened intently for a minute, then said politely and firmly, "are you sure that you want to do this sir?" The Woman In Black listened a moment more, then her dark eyes lit with glee as she confirmed, "Very well sir. Orders to terminate with extreme prejudice will be carried out as directed." She then hung up the handset of the 'extremely secure' phone and without a word; just a dangerous and deadly smile between the two of them, the Couple In Black left the motel room.

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One of the gang girls had said that she had to leave and giving Carla a withering glance had done so. The Jersey girl had once again exhausted herself doing nothing but wildly pummeling the lower half of the cheerleader's body. The flow of blood from Ethome's own nose had started back up again and the Chieftains daughter was lying on her back trying to regain her wind and staunch the flow. The other gang girl was waiting impatiently with her arms crossed, seriously contemplating leaving . . . and stiffing in an anonymous call to the police to just to hassle the back-east-bitch . . .

Then the cheerleader started to try to get to her feet.

The gang girl allowed a sinister smile to come to her face. Maybe things were going to get interesting again.

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Tara, having had an internal shouting dialog to herself about what she was doing, was just about to pull away, having convinced herself that as long as Bonnie stayed down, she would have time to go call for help . . .

Then Bonnie started to get up—

Tara screamed silently at her friend . . . not that it would do any good. Now she knew that she had to do something!

Then it came to her and Tara, finally snapping open her cell phone, frantically started to . . .

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Carla rolled on her side, eyes wide with disbelief as she saw Rockwaller start to move as if to get up. _She can't be serious! _Carla wheezed to herself. _I had to at least break that one ankle when I stomped on it. She should be in so much pain that she should want me to kill her._ But believe it or not, Carla saw that Rockwaller was indeed getting up. And that forced Carla to do the same . . .

And she was having trouble dealing with her own lack of stamina—

And . . . the pain—

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Kim and Ron were walking along under the eyes of Barkin who was right behind them herding them in through the outer office toward his office door. The going was slow because of Ron's cane and Barkin at least seemed to understand this and not try to press him to go faster.

Then, Kim's eyes flashed wide as her cell phone gave the double beep indicating an incoming text message. She automatically started to reach for it—

"Leave it be Possible," Barkin groused. "Whatever it is can wait until you to have been given your proper punishment."

Kim's mind raced. She considered just for a moment lying to Barkin by saying that she had been expecting an important emergency text from her parents . . . but she dropped it immediately if for no other reason that she, Kim Possible, was back and she would no longer break her own rules as to conduct.

Whoever it was that was texting her would just have to wait.

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Bonnie painfully teetered to her feet, wincing and favoring the broken ankle. But she had walked, among other things, on them before. She leveled her eyes on her target, convinced that she was going to die but prepared to take her demon with her.

Despite the anger and rage at Kim Possible when Bonnie had been at the height of her tantrums over the prom and aftermath, Bonnie had never seriously contemplated actually killing anyone. And she didn't know if she could do so now. But she also had a better understanding of what it was that the old man had said. Responsibilities had to be met, prices had to be paid for her to both restore herself, relieve herself of the burden of her guilt and guiltiness and satisfy the penalties that she owed to all the others; the members of her posse and their parents and families for what it was that she had done to them, the citizens of Middleton in general for all the hassle and trouble that everything that she had helped sow had reaped, and of course, to a couple of other kids her age, now boyfriend/girlfriend whose mere, simple act of becoming the same, had been the petty, jealous, immature cause for all that she, Bonnie Rockwaller, had started.

Now, if that same her, Bonnie Rockwaller . . . if she could slay her demon, even with her last breath, taking Carla Ethome out, freeing all those others from Carla's control and oppression, was certainly a fair trade for Bonnie's own worthless, miserable life.

Thoughts flashed through Bonnie's head about the killer couple and the fact that she was now contemplating doing just what they wanted her to do, just what they 'got off' on. But Bonnie also knew that there was a difference. The killer couple were professionals trained, paid, assigned and apparently enjoyed the killing. She—

_You're locked in the battle of your life,_ she thought, and it was amazing just how easy the thoughts came. _And it's a battle for not only your life, but, as the old man seemed to say, your soul, for _**you**. _And that's what the difference is. They, the killer couple kill because they're paid too, because they want too, because they _like_ too. You may have to do it because you _have_ too, and maybe, just a very remote maybe, that you wont have too . . . when that moment comes . . . that you can make this thing end with the both of you alive. And if that happens, maybe you can get Carla to talk, to confess about the girls, the blackmail, the plots against Kim and Ron, maybe even whatever it is that Kim and Ron are looking for her for. And that would help everybody . . . . And that's the big difference. Unlike the killer couple to whom killing is an assignment, a job, you have the choice; you can make that choice when the moment comes . . . just like you can make the choice what to do with the rest of your life if you survive this. And if I can survive this—_

And with these thoughts, Bonnie Rockwaller at last found peace with the world about her.

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Tara frantically stared at her cell phone, waiting, praying for a response. If there wasn't one . . . her mind franticly searching for another way.

In desperation, she tried the next thing that popped into her mind, even though she had no expectation that it would work.

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"What the _fuck_ do you think you're trying to do?" Carla Ethome said, the disbelief in her voice matching the look on her face as the figure across from her, in obvious extreme pain, pulled itself into a fully upright stance despite that pain—

And slowly started to limp toward her.

Carla then; she actually _looked_ at the figure, looked at her enemies face . . . and felt fear.

And she reacted in fear, with a headlong rush to knock the source of it on its ass—

Before she turned around and ran for her life.

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Bonnie held her ground as Carla rushed her, her mind as set and ready as it could be in these circumstances. She had no idea what she was going to do; she only knew that it had to be done.

Carla came in and swung a punch to Bonnie's face. Bonnie's speed and reaction, although a shadow of its former self, allowed her to block that wild swing—

But not the 'two' of the one-two combination as Carla got her in the ribs with the follow-up with the other hand.

Bonnie lurched forward, over and down in response to the blow, twisting into it as she did so, getting the outstretched hand from Carla's second blow in between the inside of Bonnie's upped arm and her side, clamping down with the arm . . . trapping it as she toppled into Carla, her balance failing, her broken ankle failing and her body tumbled down . . . dragging Carla with her.

They came down on their sides, both of them smacking their heads into the concrete. But Bonnie had been ready where Carla had not and now an explosion of light went off in Carla's head that made all the other blows to it seem like loving kisses.

Now Bonnie's knee struck at Carla's groin while at the same time she punched at the smaller girls face with her free hand. These unexpected blows made the Chieftains daughter go crazy, this new shock flashed in among all the others. For the moment, Carla became mindless, the fear inside her expanding like an explosion, her only need was to get away, all thoughts of attack gone and the rush of fear driven adrenalin gave her the strength to rip her arm loose from under Bonnie's body, muscle tearing and skin scraping against the rough floor as she did so.

Carla tried to scramble away like an animal, tried to get to her hands and knees, managing to get just that far when Bonnie again, with an almost graceful move that belied the pain (although it elicited a grating rasp) and showed the athlete she was, spun and pivoted her body around on the ground and with her good leg, kicked Carla in the side just as _hard_ as she could—

Carla heaved sideways and literally slid across the floor, feeling/knowing that she had just had ribs broken. Carla folded in around the agony of that feeling.

"Oh shit! I'm outta here," and there was the pounding of running feet, which caused Carla to open her eyes and see through the haze of pain, the last girl gang member running out of the door. Carla didn't know why and at the moment, she didn't care as her gaze moved the few degrees that it had too to see that Rockwaller was once again pulling herself to her feet.

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Tara had finished her last desperate message and she closed and pocketed her cell, readying herself to, if she had too, attack the girl gang member in order to even the odds. Tara then heard the sound of running feet and she twisted herself back around so she could once again look out into the garage—

And what she saw—

"Oh my Dear Lord."

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Carla had managed to push herself up onto her knees, staring through the blinding haze of pain with horror at the sight of Bonnie slowly coming toward her, dragging that broken ankle behind her. Carla's focus was completely on the taller cheerleader . . .

For the look on Bonnie's face told Carla that her death was coming.

Carla, in the last moment of ultimate desperation reached back and down inside the rear waistband of her pants—

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"You two," Barkin intoned with a voice 'dripping with disappointment', "have to know that you are standard setters for all the others in your peer group. Therefore, you have a higher responsibility than the others to live up to and I would think that you would appreciate the important significance of this fact."

Both Kim and Ron sat before Barkin, heads hung in an appropriate subservient/apologetic manner, both wincing at the verbal flailing that they were being subjected too.

Then, from Kim's pocket, came a familiar multi tone—

"Possible, don't!" was all Barkin could manage before Kim stopped him short with, "I'm sorry sir, but we have a real crisis that we're dealing with and this might be part of it."

Barkin stopped, but his glare could melt battle armor and there _was_ steam coming out of his ears.

"What's the sitch Wade?" Kim gushed, not knowing wither it was the reprieve from Barkin's tirade or the fact that Wade might have their desperately needed information that cause her insides to soar.

"Kim!" and both Wades tone and face was frantic. "I just got a hit on the site! It's from Tara. She was trying to get a hold of you by text to your phone, she's got an emergency."

"Shut it OFF Possible," roared Barkin. "That's not a world saving . . . "

"KIM!" Wade responded, raising the volume of the Kimmunicator himself to blow out over Barkin's voice, "Tara's in the Special Ed van garage there at school. She says that Carla Ethome and some gang members are beating up Bonnie and—"

"What ?!? Wade?!?—" Kim interrupted, instantly flooded with disbelief, "Bonnie's in the hospital, there's no way—"

"She's not," interrupted Wade back at her. "Somehow—"

"She's not!" growled Barkin and both Kim and Ron looked at him with sudden astonishment.

Barkin was already on his feet, headed toward his door. "She got out somehow overnight. I got a call from the authorities to be on the lookout should she show up around here or I overheard some student mentioning something about her—"

Both Kim and Ron were on their feet, turning to follow Barkin . . . when he turned back on them and bellowed hard enough to send Kim's hair straight and horizontal as if in a hurricane. "YOU TWO WILL STAY HERE!!!" The two of them were so shocked; they dropped back into their seats as if jerked by ropes.

Barkin didn't give them a second look as he was out the door.

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Bonnie was now just feet from Carla, the two of them seemingly the only ones who existed in the world. And that that moment, Bonnie spoke her first words in the whole fight.

"Get up."

Carla, trying not to lose control of her bodily functions, felt the ice of that tone skewer her through. She wanted to turn and run and maybe she could—

Or maybe she could finish this—

With an animal scream combining both her terror, and the tearing pain the move did to her ribs, Carla came up out of her crouch, up headlong, right into Bonnie who twisted in response, turning to one side . . . into Carla in order to cock her other arm back for another blow to the shorter girls face—

And Carla, still screaming collided fully into her—

And took the switchblade knife which had been in a hidden sheath in the rear waistband in her pants and jammed it to the hilt into Bonnie's gut just below the ribs.

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Bonnie only gave out a squeak as her face went blank/pale with shock. She lurched backwards, pulling herself off on the weapon which had impaled her, stumbling back onto the broken ankle, falling to her butt as Carla stood there, unmoving, the bloody bladed knife still thrust out in front of her, her mind in frozen disbelief that it had actually worked!

Then a piercing scream, screams, many screams, cries, smashed through the wall of fog that had formed around her and Carla looked up over Bonnie to see beyond her—

There stood at least a dozen or more students, stunned looks of horror/anger/disbelief on their faces and at last Carla understood why the girl gang member had ran, because some other student had also seen/heard the commotion and had come into the garage to see—

And they had called others on their cells, as several of them where doing even now, as a couple of others where using the camera/video functions of theirs to record the scene.

Then Carla was aware that she could hear the slut cheerleaders name being called from over her shoulder and her head turned to see . . . the long-haired blond bimbo who was the current cheerleader captain running towards them from the back of the garage and Carla realized that that bitch must have been there the whole time, overhearing Carla's promise to kill Rockwaller. That meant that no one would believe that it was self-defense, they would know that it was premeditated. And that meant—

"So what now Jersey bitch?"

The voice was so strained, so full of pain, that Carla almost didn't recognize it. But it could have only come from one person—

And that person was slowly gathering herself again and getting to her feet.

Carla goggled as Bonnie got back up, in total astonishment that the taller girl could even move let alone—

"H—h—how," Carla manage to say. "W—what is keeping you up?"

Bonnie was now 'up', one blood covered hand over the wound as the sweats on that side of her body went dark with her blood, the shiny stain already running down the outside of the leg almost to the knee.

Bonnie smiled. It was the smile of a dead person walking, but behind it was a focus, a purpose, that wouldn't let that body collapse until—

"All it is _is_ pain Carla," Bonnie said in a tone easier now that she was back on her feet. "Pain isn't anything to slow you down or be afraid of." What actually sounded like a chuckle came out of those pale lips. "Everybody forgets that long before I became a cheerleader, I spent twelve years learning ballet. And I'm quite good at it."

And Bonnie's smile grew to a grin. "And anyone who intensely, diligently studies ballet, learns pain. Learns to deal with it, learns to live with it, learns to keep going despite it, learns that by working with it, learning to focus using it, you can learn that you have no limits, and that nothing can stop you."

Bonnie then stopped for a moment as her eyes seemed to go far away. "All that pain, discomfort, work, sweat and time was completely worth it thou. I felt as if I was floating, I _knew_ that I was flying, dancing like the swan. I felt that I was a part of the music that was playing. I thought that I, the ugly duckling of my family, was beautiful." Then her gaze returned to Carla and she started to lean forward again as if to come at the other girl. "Because of what ballet did to and for me, it was the only real thing that I worked really, really hard at without regret or annoyance. And I had to have that attitude . . . because of the work and sweat and—"

Bonnie stopped as a spasm of pain ran through her and she bent into the wound. But it only lasted a moment for she came back upright and continued right where she left off. "The calluses on your feet, the torture of learning how to stand on just the tips of your toes and have them support all your weight as you float and fly about. The muscles strained and sore for days on end, the pain from when you fail and fall . . . only to force yourself up and do it again, and you fall again and you get up, and fall again . . . and get up."

Bonnie took a shuffling step toward Carla, her face turning hard. "And that's exactly what I'm doing right now Carla. I've fallen; the biggest, hardest fall that I've ever had. A fall that has completely destroyed me, made me hate myself enough to try and take my own life, made every single kid in this, as you say, pathetic little hick town which happens to be _my_ home, hate me and fear me as if I was a terrorist or mass murder. That made me try to destroy another girl who, while she's had her moments of cattiness and occasional bitchdom as well, has otherwise done nothing but brought all of us safety and well-being, has set an example for others to follow, and has really tried her best to just be another 'normal girl' despite all her unique talents."

Bonnie took another step and Carla unconsciously backed up the same distance, all her being focused on the wrath-like creature before her. A demon, thought Carla, that was going to engulf her and take her directly to Hell.

"But I now realize just how wrong I was," Bonnie cried as tears sprung from her eyes. "and I take full _responsibility_ for what I did, not only to myself, but for all the others I've bullied, persecuted, found to be 'too low' on the God DAMNED food chain to be of notice."

Another step and now the anger flooded Bonnie's face. "And first and foremost, I take full responsibility for the ones I've blackmailed and betrayed for my own, selfish, broken-ego ends. One's which I delivered into _your_ clutches Carla, to be abused, used and blackmailed further."

Carla was now panting like a trapped animal, backed up another step, frantically trying to get her mind to find some way to escape this trap. But Bonnie came another step and her face molded from anger to righteous rage.

"It's _over_ Ethome," Bonnie growled. "Right now before God and the rest of the world I say that while I was responsible for so much . . . it was _you_ Carla who came up with half the ideas to break and destroy Kim Possible. It was _you_ who came up with half of the plans and plots that snared and blackmailed the 'girls in our posse'. Not only them, but their brothers and sisters and their parents. Whole families! You who proposed the bringing of the outside gangs into Middleton and allowing them to get a foothold here to start their crimes. YOU, working with some unknown enemy and agent who had their own score against Possible, gathering the information that those people, whoever they were, used in their own campaign against Kim; YOU working though the blackmail of a family of one of those girls that _I_ initially caught in my web; forced a parent in that family to have a critical experiment fail and Felix Renton turned into a vegetable. You and you alone, not ME, who made the suggestion, and used _me_ as your pawn, to arrange the entrance of the gangs . . . and to set up the events that led to Ron Stoppable being jumped and shot and almost _killed_ in the first gang shooting Middleton has ever know!"

Bonnie managed two shaky steps and started to ball her one free hand into a fist. "You said that I was dead. HA! I'm already dead Carla. You're killing me would be a blessing, both for this 'useless' town and for me. But before I go, I'm gonna make up for everything I did, I'm going to try to set right everything I've done wrong! And I'm going to do it by taking you down with me Ethome, you useless piece of humanity; you power hungry, treacherous, self-serving, egotistical BITCH! that pollutes the earth she walks on and ensnares everyone she comes in contact with in a web of lies and misery."

Bonnie then threw her head back and howled a laugh, followed by a not-to-sane screech, "no wonder we got along so well when we first got together Carla, because we're so _much_ alike!" Bonnie's head then dropped and her eyes again targeted Carla as she took three shaky steps forward and snapped a punch into Carla's face. Carla saw it coming, she screamed at herself to dodge, her body wouldn't/couldn't react—

The blow was feeble considering, but it knocked Carla clear off her feet, the knife flying from her hand. Carla scrambled into a backwards crabwalk, desperate to get away but the world going black as the movement made her ribs howl in pain. But it didn't last as in moments she slipped; for she was back on the blood smeared floor from before. One arm was wrenched in its socket and she _felt_ it tear and disjoint, the back of her head _clanged_ into the concrete. She felt herself starting to go out and it was only with a massive force of will that she managed to stay aware. She tried rolling but with the arm/shoulder on one side and the ribs on the other, she didn't _have_ a good side to roll into. It took moments for her version to clear from the red haze of the pain—

And she saw _her_ demon standing over her—

And her demon was holding a knife with a bloody blade—

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Tara's heart was in her mouth! The tension in the garage could be cut with the knife now residing in the hand of her beaten and battered friend. Tara wanted to open her mouth and scream at Bonnie to drop it, to let it go, to let the whole thing go, turn around and walk away—

But Tara knew that for her sake, that only her beaten and battered friend could make that decision—

And Tara prayed for her friend as she never had before.

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_This is the moment_, Bonnie thought. _I can kill you Carla, I can slay you my demon. I can remove you from everything that you, you and I, have done and that can free so many people from whatever horrors they have from the two of us. I can KILL—_

Bonnie Rockwaller paused and blinked. It was if . . . just for a nano second, that she had seen the strange old man standing in front of her, beyond Carla, watching . . . what she was about to do—

_Which is that I have to make a decision as to whether I want to be a monster . . . a demon all on my own. This is the moment Bonnie . . . just what _is_ your decision, what path do you turn onto at this moment. And where do the two paths lead. If I kill her, that path can only lead—_

_But if I take the other—_

And at that moment, Bonnie Rockwaller found peace . . . in and for her mind.

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"Look at me."

Carla was having a hard time focusing on anything. But the voice came from right over her, and even then, Carla could hardly recognize it from the pain and emotion that filled it.

"W—w—what are you going to do to me," Carla replied in a voice that seemed to be from someone other than herself as one side of her brain refused to believe what the other side knew. That she was done, defeated—

And maybe about to die.

"Cut you open like the sow that you are and spread your guts across the lockers of all the outside gang members that go to this school," was the deadly/dead toned answer to her question and Carla felt the bile rise in the back of her mouth.

Then—

"What other confessions do you have to make Carla," Bonnie said in a tone of death . . . for the both of them. On that moment Carla accepted that Bonnie knew she was dieing and was bound and determined to take Carla with her—

But before that moment, Bonnie wanted Carla to . . .admit her sins.

"I—" Carla barely managed as she tried to keep from vomiting—_it's like when Bonnie was down in the gutter, puking and shitting herself after the thing with the gang leaders_ Carla thought. _It's gone full circle. But I won't . . . I'm stronger than she was! I'm—_

"The reason why I'm gonna skin you alive and spread your bloody carcass across those gang members lockers," Bonnie continued, an evil relish now in her tone as if she was enjoying the mental picture, "is to let those losers know that they aren't welcome in Middleton, that we _will_ deal with them if they continue to try to establish themselves here. But before I do it Carla, I'm gonna scrape this knife against the floor to dull the blade—"

"You're gonna feel pain Ethome," came the changed grating, hate filled tone. "Pain unlike anything you've ever known, and I hope you stay alive long enough to appreciate—"

"STOPIT!" screamed Carla as her stomach lurched and she got just a mouthful of its contents. She spit it out, half over her one arm and started to take great heaving breaths trying to get control of it.

"The posse Carla," Bonnie went on in an iron tone, "the girls and their families. What else were you responsible for? Did you have anything to do with Monique getting framed? That is what happened to her isn't it? She was just as good as Kim and Ron. She would have never done what they say she did. And Felix—"

If it was possible for the hate, anger and fury to rise in Bonnie's tone, it did so when she named Renton. It was as if Bonnie was stripping the flesh off of Carla with her voice alone when she roared, 'you BOASTED about planning to do something to him Ethome. And it had something to do with the Space Center! I KNOW you're responsible for whatever happened to Felix—"

And the tone dropped to that of death, "and—and Felix . . . _cared_ about me. I _owe_ him!"

Then Bonnie's voice went as cold as ice. "And there's something else isn't there. Something that has Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable quietly trying to find you, so that they could take you out and—"

Carla managed to raise her head, pure animal fear in her eyes—

Bonnie was fingering the blade coated with her own blood.

"What do they want? Why are they looking for you Carla? What else are you responsible for?"

Bonnie's eyes were focused on her—

A Demon of Death . . . her death, was focused on her—

"I was passing information to . . . people," Carla began, acknowledging her death, the death of her promise, her vows, the family and _Family_ traditions of never being a snitch, acknowledged the death of her pride and self. "Anything and everything about Possible and Stoppable that I could get my hands on. Someone . . . was paying me for that information as well as anything I could find out about Possible's parents and their jobs. One of them . . . I finally figured it out, whoever it was that was organizing the _other_ attack that was trying to destroy Possible . . . didn't pay me, but promised me . . . a reward when their 'attack' was all over. The other . . . I used the money to start my own operations and finance the gangs as they came into town. I helped the . . . whoever it was because I never actually met any of them . . . I set up a location where they could establish a base in town, one of the time-share warehouses that my father owns, right here in Middleton. The same one, just freshly rebuild, from that weird army weapon thing that happened to Possible and Stoppable a year or so ago when they changed—" a sudden look of surprise/understanding came over Carla's face—

"Maybe that's what Possible and Stoppable are looking for," Carla blurted as she came to the realization herself.

But Bonnie's face was folding into . . . Carla realized—

"I forced Darlene Goody's father to do . . . whatever he did to that kid Renton! I did it just because I enjoyed helping to destroying Possible and everybody who stood with her. And it was also a shot at Barkin and his precious 'Special Ed' students. I was working on that 'hit' long before—"

Then Carla's words froze in her throat as Bonnie pulled herself upright and dropped the knife to a ready position at her side. "I—I bragged about it cause when it happened, it helped my street cred with the gang members, showed them just how far a reach I had—" at that moment, Bonnie took a shaky step at Carla, murder in her eyes, "IVE TOLD THE TRUTH! I'VE CONFESSED EVERYTHING," Carla screamed as it appeared that her demon was about to strike.

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_So this is what it's like to have the power of life or death over someone_ said a small, detached part of Bonnie's mind. _I wonder if this is what the Couple in Black 'get off' over . . ._

_It—it makes me sick—_

_Old man, I know the path I'm on now . . . even if I fail in the end . . . even if I'm dead in a couple of minutes . . . at least I will have tried my best—_

_Thank you old man. I hope I can tell that to your face someday—_

But . . . Bonnie could feel, she thought, just what it was that was going on inside her body . . . so—

_But I don't think I'm gonna make it that long old man . . . but somehow I believe . . . that somehow . . . you'll know anyway._

And with that . . . Bonnie Rockwaller at last found peace, and contentment, for and about . . . her, herself, Bonnie Rockwaller . . . in both her mind . . . _and_ her soul.


	31. The 3Rs of Rockwaller Pt3 Resurrection

Bonnie seemed to slowly kind of relax, to lose the hostile, ready-to-kill stance that had everyone in the room with their heart in their mouths, their breathing able to resume as it just sort of faded away . . . and her voice was suddenly just _tired_! "Okay, Ethome, get up!"

Carla blinked, not understanding what was going on.

Bonnie, looking as pale as death, starting to have trouble keeping her eyes focused, starting to rock just a little bit back and forth on her feet spelled it out for her. "Since you're doing such a good job spilling your guts, let's say that I don't really feel spilling them for real for you right now. We'll let you continue to do it the other way, by talking to the police and telling them just exactly what it was that I; you, and you and I did."

Carla managed to blink her eyes into focus . . . and she saw that Rockwaller had lowered the knife, and was heavily leaning into the wounded side.

"Y—you—you're," was all Carla managed.

"Get up Ethome. We're going to Barkin's office."

Carla pulled her eyes away from her demon and looked out at the floor in front of her as a whole new horror opened for her—

And then her eyes blinked, and she saw what was _right there_, waiting for her, just a couple of yards away.

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Tara had started to quietly slip over towards Bonnie, fear and pride almost bursting out of her. She could see that a puddle was forming under one of Bonnie's feet from the blood that was now running down though her clothing all the way to the floor. Tara didn't know how much longer her friend could manage it, and she wanted to be ready to catch her if she fell—

_Like I should have done when she first started to fall all that time ago._

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Everybody in the room, where it seemed like it was all over but the shouting, suddenly cried in surprise as Carla made a frantic lunge from her prostrate position. Before anyone could move, she had, with an accompanying scream of agony from broken ribs, scrambled across the floor and reached her discarded backpack—

And it was with another scream, this one of mixed pain/rage/terror/triumph that she got her hand into it and whipped out the small automatic pistol that she had kept there as a last resort.

She fired twice at the figure of the demon trying to destroy her, but the pain from her desperate scramble caused the world to almost darken to black . . . and when she blinked her eyes back to some sort of vision—

The bitch/slut cheerleader was all the way down flat on her stomach—

And instead of looking terrified as Carla had hoped . . . the look of rage was back! And locked squarely on Carla Ethome!

Carla didn't know if she's hit the Bitch with her first volley but the rage focused on her from those demon eyes almost caused her to leap up and run away—

But her vision cleared a little more and Carla sucked in a breath as she realized that behind that skewering stare, her demon's eyes were starting to go glassy . . . that behind that look of rage, the features where starting to go slack—

And with another roar of agony, Carla; despite the pain, heaved herself up onto her butt, grabbing the pistol with both hands, and tried to line up the sights to finish it, to unload the entire magazine into that face of her demon—

Only to cry again in terror, jerking backwards—almost losing her grip on the pistol . . . as a vision of a blond tiger dropped into in between her and her target assuming a position ready to spring.

"Drop it Carla!" Tara snarled as without a thought she had interposed herself in front of Bonnie. "It's over! All you're going to do is get yourself in more trouble than you already are."

"Get out of the way," Carla screamed as she tried to pull herself back up so that she could get a shot at her demon.

"NO!" spat back Tara. "It's not going to happen Carla. You're going to have to shoot me to get to Bonnie. And you'd better make sure you get me with the first shot. Because if you don't, God HELP me, I will take that gun away from you and I will shove it up your ASS!"

Carla looked at the blond cheerleader blankly; sincerely not believing what she was seeing/hearing. It was—

"You're out of your mind," Carla whispered in disbelief. "You would do that for this worthless slut?"

Tara's features folded in rage. "Don't you _dare_ call her that. Bonnie Rockwaller is my FRIEND! One that I forgot my responsibilities too. One who, if I hadn't forsaken her, maybe would never have become the tragic figure that EVERYONE!" and at that moment, Tara rose up and turned around shouting that word at all the kids in the garage, "sees her as. And that's all that any of you see. You don't see the girl behind it! You don't see what made the girl become that way! Some of you were her friends too! AND NONE OF YOU EVER TRIED TO HELP HER EITHER!"

Tara came back around to face Carla, her features on the brink of tears. "And it's my shame and my damnation for what I didn't do. And DAMN you all! For I'll at least admit it now before everybody that I failed her. But I did it because I was scared to stand up for her in front of you all. Well, now I'm doing more than standing up for her. I want ALL (and Tara's head snapped over for a quick glance at all the other kids) of you to know, that Bonnie is my friend. She's made her mistakes and hurt a lot of people but she's admitting it, trying to make it right, trying to fix everything she's done. AND YOU BETTER ALL ACCEPT THAT!" And a sniffle escaped from Tara before she finished with a heartfelt, "because she's coming back, and I'll be right at her side—"

Tara then focused back once again on Carla. "You can't kill her Ethome, you can't kill me. We're both bigger than you are. You are nothing because you're a parasite, who has to resort to knives and guns when you're losing because you're small and weak and make yourself big by bullying, controlling and terrorizing others."

Tara's eyes narrowed and she dropped into a position to spring. "It's over Carla, you're over. So either drop it, or do what you must. Because one way or the other, you're done."

Carla's mind went into vapor lock. It stopped functioning due to pure overload. She was operating on instinct only—

And that demanded survival . . . at any cost!

Her finger started to squeeze the trigger.

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Kim was about to set fire to the carpet in Barkin's office strictly by the speed with which she was pacing back and forth in the little room that available for her to use. Her teeth were gritted and her heart was pounding. Every danger sense she had told her that they, she and Ron, were needed. But what could they do when they didn't know what was going on?

Ron sat in his chair, absently rubbing at his sore thigh, his heart filled with worry for his lady. The fact that Bonnie might be out, and might be getting beaten didn't 'please' him in the least, but—

Then the spare teacher/administrator walkie-talkie on the shelf next to the door spat a burst of static and a voice, "I think those were gunshots in the van garage. Call the police!"

Kim's eyes went wide . . . but she looked at Ron with a moment of torn horror.

"Kim," Ron hissed at her, "go!"

Kim dithered, for the moment, feeling . . .

"Ron, I—you—I need—I have to have you _with_ me! I don't trust myself alone yet!"

Bewilderment flashed though Ron's face for just a moment before understanding followed. A spark of anger flared in his eyes and he thrust out his hand.

"Kim?!? I'm always with you. TRUST YOURSELF! Because I TRUST you and always will!"

Kim's eyes snapped down to Ron's outstretched hand. There, was the . . . ring that she had given him, the mate to the one on her finger—

He was always with her.

"GO KP GO!" Ron shouted at her. "I'll catch up!"

And Kim was out of the door like a rocket from Ron's scooter.

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Bonnie couldn't believe what was happening. That Tara, quiet gentle Tara, was facing down her demon with no thought, no hesitation, no care for her own well being.

Bonnie wanted to yell at Tara to get away, to not waste herself _for me, she's doing it for me, because she's my friend. My Friend! A true friend that—_

"No Tara, don't—" but that was all Bonnie could manage, and then, only at a whisper—

For the world around her was starting to slowly turn and spin, and at the edges of her vision, things were starting to go black—

And the fire in her gut, as well as all of her injuries, they weren't hurting quite as badly as before—

Was all this a good thing?

Bonnie believed that it was, and was desperate to tell Tara, tell her that it wasn't necessary to save her. That it would be in fact, the best of all worlds—

Bonnie had in a flash of sudden insight knew . . . with her own death, Carla would be history—

And Bonnie could slay her demon . . . simply by dieing—

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Tara looked into the face of death and snarled in defiance! (despite the cries of complete and total terror emanating from her hindbrain). If this was the sacrifice that she had to make for her inaction when she _knew_ her friend Bonnie was falling into the pit of Hell; and she did nothing to stop it or help her friend, that she had shirked her responsibility to that friend who even now was paying the price, then so be it! She would go open-eyed knowing that at last, she had done something to be proud of other than just being who she was.

Tara's mind, functioning at the incredible pace only possible when the adrenal gland was going full speed, saw, in that slow motion kind of way, Carla's hands start to tighten up on the pistol as if to fire—

Tara thought some microsecond prayers to her parents, siblings, other family and friends, a special one to Kim and Ron, to Josh and to Bonnie . . . and she gave thanks for being given the strength to act at this moment—

And then Tara ordered her body to leap directly into the face of that fire—

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Doctor Renton looked at the pale, emaciated, supine, comatose figure of her son, her only surviving child, the last piece that she had left of her dear departed husband, and she tired to find courage in her heart—

She didn't know it there was any left there.

Biting her lip and fighting back tears, she turned around to the others in the lab, who could only given her their support, but could not relieve her of her burden.

Doctor Renton looked down at the object in her hand. The data disk that Goody had taken out of his desk drawer . . . and she heard again what he had to say—

"_I don't know if it will even work because there was no way to test it without reveling what was going on. If something bad happens, I'll go to my grave despising myself and wishing I could have done everything different. As it is . . . all I can do is hope that I got it right the first time, because there will be no second_."

Doctor Renton looked back over her shoulder at her son. They were running out of time for his poor, ravaged body. And there was no way to know if they had already lost his mind. But taking the time to test and trouble-shoot this disk would absolutely take longer than they, or Felix had.

So, saying a silent prayer, Felix Renton's mother turned to the console and opened the disk reader—

She did not jump when she felt a hand come down to rest on her shoulder and she without looking reached up with her other hand to grip it fiercely, knowing that it was James who was there at this moment of truth to give her every bit of support he could—

And she felt no embarrassment or discomfort as she looked back up through the window to where her son lay. For there, at the head of a ready team, a tall, statuesque form of a woman, identity disguised in all the scrubs, masks and gloves (still being adjusted from a hasty dawning), called in _very_ abruptly to assist when it was discovered what it was that Goody had given them . . .

Doctor Renton knew that woman could see that she was holding onto the hand of that woman's husband—

She felt Doctor James Timothy Possible, without removing the hand from her shoulder, stretch past her and touch a communications stud on the panel in front of them, "we're ready dear, are you?"

Of course only the woman's large sapphire eyes were visible, but they were calm, containing a sanity calming to others. Those sapphire eyes were also ready, and full of a deep, deep compassion, oblivious to the fact that another woman was seeking comfort from her husband—

And knowing that it was only true friendship and care that was being displayed— "as ready as we can be dear," the female figure replied. "The EEG's are all set. We'll monitor as completely as we can, hopefully no . . . direct intervention will be necessary."

Doctor Renton inwardly shrank back from that thought. The very idea of cutting into her son's brain when the rest of his body was already so depleted in order to, if necessary, forcibly separate him from the MINDMERGE helmet—

The sapphire eyes then looked at her . . . "anytime you're ready doctor."

Doctor Renton felt the hand on her shoulder squeeze a little harder, knowing that the eyes of the man that it belonged too would be locked on the scrubs concealed figure of his wife rather than the monitors before him—

All of them doctors, but only that sapphire eyed, statuesque woman in scrubs was used to having a frail human life teetering in her hands—

"Thank you doctor," Doctor Renton heard herself say, she then slipped the disk into the reader and pushed the button to close it—

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"DROP IT ETHOME!" and the full-fury power of that voice _shook_ the entire van garage, scaring every person inside and some who were outside—

And Carla, reacting by instinct only, twisted her whole body around to confront this newest assault on her senses, every sinew in her tortured body screaming with the effect—

Barkin came to an abrupt halt as the pistol swiveled to him, Whitler immediately breaking from his side and starting to circle around to get to a better angle to attack if it came down to it. Barkin _slowly_ raised a restraining hand toward Carla, and in a softer, but no less authoritive tone, "it's alright Carla, no ones going to hurt you and you're not going to hurt anyone either. Whatever has happened, whatever you think is going to happen, is something we can all deal with calmly. There's no need to make anything worse or have fear that this is the only way it can be dealt with. Put the gun down and we'll talk and we'll make it right for all of us."

But a feeling of power surged though Carla. She had _stopped_ Barkin! She had _made him_ come down off of his fucking high horse and talk to her like she was somebody! To her desperate, addled mind, it meant only one thing—

She had control. And her brain slammed back into gear . . . except that her _mind, _lost to pain and shock, as blood ran from her nose and sweat turned suddenly dry on her skin . . . did not reengage.

"Fuck you!" she growled as she slowly, painfully, started to push herself to her feet, being very careful to keep the pistol leveled at the administrator. "The only thing that's gonna happen," she hissed as managed to get to one knee and start to try to leverage herself to stand, entire face wincing and going even paler from too many agonies to tell, "is that someone here is gonna come with me so that I can get to my car and get the fuck out of here!"

The black look on Barkin's face grew darker. "You know that's not going happen Ethome. You're not going to take anyone hostage. Not on my watch! You're going to put the gun down and we're going to take care of this calmly."

"Are you out of you're fucking mind you stupid military misfit," Carla managed as she reached her feet, swaying unsteadily as she tried not to collapse around the fire in her side, "with everything I've done, everything that the cops and the Feds will find as soon as they start digging. You dumb ass, do you think I'll be handled like a kid? Bullshit! They'll certify me to adult court and put my ass away until I'm your fucking age!"

"If you cooperate with the authorities," Barkin stated.

"Fuck the authorities," Carla snarled bring the pistol up higher. "It's bad enough what has happened to me here. There's no fucking way that I'm gonna snitch to the cops and Feds. I'd rather go to the joint than that. But that's not happening either because you're gonna let me go, and someone it gonna come with me for insurance that that happens."

"It's not going to happen Ethome," Barkin growled.

"Yes it will," Carla said in a voice now deadly through the glaze of agony. "Cause right now, things can't get any worse for me. So . . . isn't the saying, in for a penny, in for a pound?" She laughed kind of crazily, "didn't I learn that in that stupid Lit class you taught." And with that, Carla swiveled the pistol until it was pointing at Tara who was still crouched in front of Bonnie. "Fuck the psycho slut Rockwaller. If I don't get what I want in the next sixty seconds, little Jesus Freak Cheerleader Captain will get her brains blown out all over the place and after that, any other of your precious 'boys and girls' that I can get until I'm out of ammunition." And then her eyes narrowed, "and I have more in my backpack."

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Whitler had moved all the way around behind Ethome. Now she contemplated the situation and her ability to sneak up behind the deranged girl and grab her before everything went south. If it looked as if the whacked Chieftains daughter was actually going to _do_ it, she would just have to charge and hope that; first . . . that directed the little bitches' attention totally on her and away from the other students; second . . . that the little shit couldn't shoot worth shit and at least not hit her in anything vital before she got her hands on the thick neck of the little . . . and choked the crap out of her.

But such was the realm of responsibility. And despite everything else in her completely screwed up life and career, Whitler had always understood her responsibilities, even when they were detrimental to that life and career.

But she was running out of time now that the whack had called a countdown. She had to move—

And Whitler hoped that she got it right, and that Ethome got it wrong, the first time.

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Time counted down. Tara felt the sweat running down her face. She saw the maw of the pistol wavering under the unsteady grip of its holder. She knew what she had to do. No hostages would be taken. She would go in and take Carla out if it was her last breath.

Tara knew that she would have to do it when it wasn't expected. She started her own mental countdown—

When Carla reached seven, Tara would go—

And she hoped that it was a lucky number for her.

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Carla felt the madness taking her. NO ONE was MOVING! They actually wanted her to shoot the blond bimbo? She couldn't fucking believe this as she counted down. WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?

"Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen. WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING DOING YOU ASSHOLES!" Carla screamed in disbelief, her hands involuntarily squeezing down on the pistol.

Whitler leapt forward—

Tara gathered herself and started—

Barkin lowered himself to charge—

"_Not SO the Drama Carla_!" came the triumphant cry from above—

And everybody's head _snapped_ up to see a flame haired figure diving headlong from the open roof vent—

Carla Ethome, the pistol in her hand forgotten, had enough time for her jaw to drop to the floor—

Before Kimberly Anne Possible landed on top of her like a semi load of bricks.

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In that slow motion world of her adrenaline high, Kim was able to reach out as she came down, grab the pistol in Carla's hand and twist it out of her grip even as the full force of Kim's chest/body, hit the stocky girl full down on top of her.

Carla collapsed like a house of cards under her.

Kim ducked and rolled over the collapsing girl, using the space vacated by the falling body to tuck into her landing rollout, tossing the gun towards Barkin as she did so. Kim knew that the proximity of the garage wall was going to cause her problems so she had to make the roll short and hard, coming up onto her feet and allowing herself to slam into and then rebound off the wall, using a back flip to sail over Carla's now almost prone body, coming to a landing on her feet, combat ready stance but with the knowledge that there could be no possible fight left in her enemy—

Kim's only source of frustration was that it had been too quick, too easy.

While at the same time, a very grateful part of her was glad that she had maintained her control. And at the center of that control, was the image of a certain goofy smile—

For someone had been right . . . he was always with her.

Then Whitler was there, tossing Carla's backpack further away, turning the near unconscious girl over and starting a rapid search of her.

It looked as if the fight was over.

"Nobody Move!" came the grating call and Kim, Whitler and Barking all jerked around—

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In the group of students, they were now scrambling away from the two gang members holding guns who had been in their midst without anybody realizing it. "Drop the gun asshole!" one was screaming at Barkin as the other waved his gun in frightened circles in the direction of Kim and Whitler screaming, "move it, move it! Get away from her."

Barkin, considering the pair's level of near panic, had no choice but to drop the gun thrown to him by Kim and hold his hands up. "What is the meaning of this," he growled in a deadly voice.

"We were told to keep an eye on her," the one confronting Barkin yelled in near frenzy. "So she wouldn't screw something up and then screw us, our gang up." Kim kept an eye on both of them as she was shuffled over with Whitler towards Barkin. As long as they stayed so far apart, she would be unable to take both of them out . . . and knowing now the effects of wild shooting the way she did, she couldn't take the chance of any of the other students being hurt unless she could take them both out in one move.

"We didn't really trust her or her old man," the gang member was continuing to rant. "And we don't trust her now after the way she just ran her mouth to keep shut again if the cops and Feds do talk to her for all _her_ big talk of not snitching." They had reached Carla's fallen form, the first gang member shoving his gun into his belt and reaching down to roughly yank Carla's almost unconscious form to her feet—

And he was rewarded with a scream from her as her arms, shoulders; broken ribs and all the rest reacted to that same treatment. The first gang member reacted by smacking her in the back of the head and shouting at her, "shut the fuck up and walk bitch! You're lucky we don't just shoot you right now as the fucking snitch you are!"

The second gang member was still herding Kim and the two teachers back over towards the rest of the students, scooping up Carla's pistol where Barkin had dropped it.

Kim was biding her time, having made up her mind to let these two get out of the building and away from school and other students before she went after them again. She would have Wade get a track on them as soon as they were out of sight outside—

The trio, with the first gang member still having to almost carry Carla, had now reached the open doors, "anyone follows, and we start shooting anybody we see on the street, men, women, kids! It'll be on your heads if anybody else gets hurt because you're following us. AND THAT MEANS YOU POSSIBLE."

Kim's eyes narrowed and she felt her anger build. She was not going to be gentle when she caught these guys.

The trio was backing out the open door, the second gang member still holding his gun on everybody—

The second one screamed in sudden pain and the gun clattered to the ground in front of him. Something had hit him that had been too fast for any of them to see. And it had _hurt_ him. The first one started to turn to the face the area outside of door next to them, confronting something that those inside couldn't see . . . his hand trying to dig his gun out of his waistband even as he literally dropped Carla—

Ron Stoppable, having knocked the gun out of the second ones hand with . . . something . . . stepped in and drove the rubber tipped end of his cane deep into the gut of the first gang member, bending him double over it before Ron ripped it back out, reversed it and smashed the head of it down onto the head of that gang member—

The second gang member had been gripping at his now broken wrist in pain for almost a whole moment before he realized just exactly what was happening. He pulled his good hand away from that wrist, reaching for Carla's gun in his waistband—

Ron, with his bad legs, could not advance in time, so he twisted about, tripping and falling over his own feet to be sure, but managing to hurl his cane at the gang member.

The cane caught the bad teen in the jaw just as the pistol was coming out and up. The impact/involuntary reaction caused the gang member to drop the pistol as his arms flung out wildly to steady/balance himself as he drunkenly pirouetted around in a full 270 turn that when finished, left him once again facing directly into the van garage—

The gang member tried to clear his vision, which took just a moment—

He did so . . . just in time to see the 'foot' of an airborne Kim Possible incoming just a 'foot' from his face. The two items impacted together and the teen heroes foot won. Kim dropped him like a pole-axed steer.

Kim was back on her feet in a ready stance, but it was over. She turned to Ron and started toward him with a big smile on her face, expecting to see his goofy grin from falling over his own feet.

But Kim stopped in surprise for a moment . . . because Ron wasn't looking at her. He . . . seemed to be looking intently past her, past the front of the open van garage doors. She turned abruptly as if there might be danger there that Ron saw that she didn't.

But there . . . was nothing there other than Ron's cane a few feet away. Kim shook her head realizing . . . there was . . . something else, just lying on the ground far beyond were they were. Kim tried to focus her eyes on it . . . and in the fraction of a moment that it took, blinking her eyes doing so, she realized that . . . now she couldn't see _anything_ where she though there had been something before—

"What are you looking at KP? There's nothing there."

Kim then turned back to her best friend/boyfriend, who now had his trademark goofy grin. But he was pale and sweating heavily from the obvious exertion of having to arrive from the administration building in time to do what he did. Kim saw Ron take a deep breath as he tried to get up without using the cane for support. Kim had to stop, glance again over her shoulder at the spot, then give herself a shake. "I—never mind Ron, are you okay?"

And she now helped his all the way up onto his feet. "Never better KP," Ron said cheerily despite all the sweaty faces he made with the strain and pain of getting up and the way he was breathing heavily from the strain. "Nice to know the old footwork is still there."

"You goof," Kim smiled at him, wanting desperately to give him a kiss (despite her still painful lip) but knowing that Barkin _had_ to be watching, as well as the fact that the way parts of him were shaking . . . she _knew_ that he was again 'fibbing' to her about the amount of pain he was in. "You're going to hurt yourself," she said as she stepped over and retrieved Ron's cane, handing it back to him. "You're going to be worse than you already are if you keep that up. In fact, if you keep that up, I just might have to do one of those full body rubs I keep telling you about in order to make you change your ways."

Ron blushed and Kim laughed. Then Carla, prostrate on the ground next to them groaned and Kim looked down at her with a sour expression—

Then . . . it seemed that out of every corner and turn of all the school building around them, a FLOOD of men with leveled weapons erupted—

"FBI! Everybody stay where you are, show us your hands. FBI!"

And—at that same moment; a scream, a scream they recognized as Tara's, erupted from inside of the garage.


	32. The 4TH R

Ron _wanted_ to run; in his usual hands-flung-up-in-the-air/mouth-open-wide-screaming mode . . . but that would hurt too much, and he would probably loose the cane doing so. But before he could come up with some kind of alternate type of panic, as usual, a calmer, cooler head prevailed with the laying on a gentle hand on one shoulder (which still flinched with pain) and that soothing voice that he knew so well telling him, "chill Ron, if we just stay cool, it wont be so the drama."

Kim herself was in a relaxed, passive stance, making sure her hands were visible (even with one of them on Ron's shoulder) and as the armed swarm came about them, her brain was churning in the direction of this new situation and arriving at answers. "You've had Ethome under surveillance," she said out to the group as a whole, knowing that— "You had one going on all this time. When you heard the gunshots, you knew that something was going south and that you had to move in. But there was only probably a single team on Carla so you had to call in backup and then gear up . . . that's why you took so long. You—"

"Please Ms Possible," said a small, balding one who like all the others, was wearing a dark 'raid jacket' marked with huge lettering for FBI and other patches and emblems but who was not carrying a displayed weapon, "I'm afraid that I can't say much. It's for your own good."

Kim's eyes narrowed. As it had been hoped, her random talking had brought to her one who seemed to have some kind of authority . . . but was already making sounds as if to cut her out of the loop. Keeping a firm hold on her temper, she started to open her mouth—

"Area secured," another agent called as he came out from the inside of the garage, "all perps in custody and everybody else identified as non-hostile. A couple need ambulances—"

At that moment, Barkin was coming out of the garage, his voice booming with such power that he really didn't need the walkie-talkie that he was using to contact the main office. "I need a rescue ambulance right now! Tell them that we have a seventeen-year-old girl, apparently with a serious knife wound who just went unconscious and is bleeding badly . . . what? No, a _knife_ wound, the shooter didn't hit anything except the far wall—"

Then Marcella, who had been one of the teens inside watching, came out, her face full of panic and tears streaming down her face— "Kim! Ron! Bonnie just passed out! And she's bleeding real bad! You have to do something to help—"

Kim felt her face freeze . . . and somehow, (she didn't have a clue how) she managed not to blurt out 'she can die for all that I care'. She then closed her eyes and struggled mightily with herself—

Then her eyes snapped back open as her head cranked over . . . in response to the gentle hand that was now on _her_ shoulder. Her eyes fell on Ron . . . and all the mutual thoughts/feeling/emotions passed between the two of them as if they were telepathic.

"I'll go KP," Ron said simply. "You deal with the agents here and with Carla. You're better at that than I am." What he didn't say, but what his eyes and face told her, was that he understood that she wasn't ready, that she hadn't even begun to address her feelings, rage and hatred for Bonnie let alone dealt with them enough to be able to 'do the right thing'. But at the same time, while she saw much of the same feelings in Ron, there was also . . . something else there that she couldn't understand . . . and something that she could.

The fact that for all his other frailties, Ron was much more a 'people' person than she was. As an Alpha Female/Blue Fox, she was a leader, an inspirer, a role model. But at the same time, those traits; being a leader, a perfectionist who couldn't resist a challenge and was driven to excel and the associated pitfalls, like her being bossy and expecting others to match or maintain the same high standards that she set for herself—

But she had learned, as she shook her whole body like a dog shaking off water, just how dangerous some of those traits could be in the last several months when dealing with things that didn't fit into the model of her world . . . as she had learned that others were better at helping her . . . or doing things that she could not.

Ron _was_ a people person. And as much as he might hate or resent someone, at the same time, he could often understand them better than Kim could for he had been some of the places/moods/situations that they had been, and he had been through them with his easy, gentle manner intact and his own special brand of compassion worn on his sleeve. A compassion that for all Kim's desire to help people and make their lives safe and happy, she could never equal in quite the same way.

Yes, Kim could see the anger and dislike for Bonnie in Ron's eyes. But she could also see the compassion, even for someone who had done them both so wrong, because Ron understood so much of why Bonnie was Bonnie. And Kim choked a little when she saw Ron's compassion for her, his girlfriend, and his understanding of where she was at and that she _couldn't do this_ right now if ever.

Kim wanted to embrace Ron and kiss him deeply, but had to settle for a quick peck on the cheek. "You Rock!" was all she said in a whisper that only he could hear. Ron just gave her a goofy grin and replied, "all I need to do is learn to stop being in between them and a hard place."

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Doctor Director's stance at the main conference table in GJ Headquarters had changed only to the point that she was now leaning forward with her hands on the table . . . and the anger and frustration level of her voice ratcheted up about thirty points. "Where _are_ they? Here we sit, blind and hobbled by their own instructions . . . since I now understand that it was _they_ who issued the Comm code Fox Three. If the damn world is so close to losing it, why aren't they giving us directives and directions like they have been the past weeks?"

The target of her unhappy verbal assault was a blank faced Agent Smith who was giving nothing away, "as I said before," he answered cautiously, "they are involved directly with a critical component of this operation and—"

"Such as what?" the Interpol Agent-In-Charge challenged. "Every other time they went off to 'kill' someone before, they at least allowed us to carry on with our own operations. This lock down might very well cripple our ability to deal with the crisis when it is lifted. And," and he stopped and allowed his eyes to sweep the other individuals at the table before returning a hard, suspicious stare at Smith, "it smacks of them, with their usual high-handed, damn everybody else's operations and opinions, placing the Comm blockage so that none of us can communicate with our own higher authorities to see if there has been a possible change in the situation that maybe _they_ don't want us to know about."

"Whither you like it or not," Smith said coldly, "you have no choice but to follow it."

The Agent-In-Charge drew himself up to his full height. "I am not responsible to you or your government. I am responsible to the United Nations and all the other countries that support us." His eyes narrowed before he said, "and I am well aware of how your government dislikes my employers."

Agent Smith didn't allow a millimeter of his own discomfort to show. In a calm but firm tone he replied, "but you're a signatory to the MOU and therefore blinded by it."

The Agent-In-Charge gave an angry snort. "_Is_ that true? If we had a chance to contact our superiors, would we find that the situation is as it was? Or would we find that things have changed and your precious couple in charge, do not want us to know that?"

Smith held his ground. "That is both unprofessional and inflammatory sir. There is no evidence—"

"Evidence," came with a similar snort from the District Chief of the NSA. "Evidence such as the fact that a Comm code Fox Three was sounded pending a alleged attack on the internet again . . . an attack which apparently has not materialized. And the fact that even _our_ communications . . . MY agencies communications . . . have been cut off from Washington, even via the MASOn Five units . . . THAT was NOT done prior to now, even during the last attack—"

"I would be . . . careful sir," Smith said quietly. "Unlike our esteemed friend from Interpol who as he said, is not responsible to the United States Government, you sir . . . " and he let the implied threat hang.

The NSA man glared back at him. "I'm not forgetting. But I'm also not forgetting my responsibilities to that government outside of our black hole communities either. And as any of us in the know _know_, the two agents from that blackest of black hole communities who have been in charge of this whole thing have a wild and wooly reputation that while it gets the job done, it leaves the rest of us holding the bag as often as not."

"I think that's enough sir," Smith said forcefully, just a little sweat on his brow as again, he was ordering someone several levels of authority above his rank to basically dig their own grave.

"I would agree," Doctor Director said quietly.

All eyes on the room went to her . . . and the little angry face that was still resting on her shoulder.

"What do you mean Doctor?" Smith asked, forehead now more than a little moist.

"My instincts tell me that our . . . bosses are . . . as so often the case, and so well put by my colleague in the NSA (she nodded toward the man), doing a triple or quadruple cross here, and have at last, gone off to accomplish their _real_ mission, whatever it might be, leaving the rest of us as was said . . . 'holding the bag' in the form of a madman ready to destroy the world. As I am the only one here with the direct authority to do something constructive about it, I see that I have no choice but to, as I had previously threatened, withdraw Global Justice from this operation and start working on it independently . . . and damn you threats about the consequences."

Smith was now visibly sweating. "You have no proof—"

Doctor Director bored him through with her one eye. "Oh? The very fact that for the past two months, we haven't even been able to blow our noses without being micromanaged, and now we've been left in the lurch without any 'instructions' as has been the case _every_ other time they have run off. I'd say that's a clue. The fact that they have been almost smothering in their announcements about the imperative priority of every little thing in the hunt for Drakken and then they go off unannounced and out-of-touch when every time before, they kept us tied to them with apron strings—"

"That's not proof," Smith said harshly. "How do you know that what their doing isn't directly involved in bringing this operation to a successful conclusion?"

An angry gleam came to Doctor Directors eye. "Because unless they've lied all along about Drakken being in Middleton, why did they leave town? If they had gone off to kill him, they would have just gone to wherever he is and done it. And as of right now, as far as we know, the FBI still hasn't located anything from Ethome's records that show where Drakken could be. And our precious 'bosses' did leave town, my agents are sure of that."

Smith glared back at her. "That's not proof of—"

"It's proof enough," she rode back over him, "that what they're doing is a part of just what was said earlier. This whole thing is a part of something else, something entirely within _your own country and/or government_ that has, at this moment of doom, caused someone or something to happen that they have been waiting for . . . and they've gone to finish it. It's the triple or quadruple cross that was said earlier, and from them, we've all seen it before and were left holding that same bag, if not dead bodies."

Smith seemed unable to answer for several moments, then all he said was, "there's no proof, and there is no way that those of us remaining are going to allow you—"

"Is that a threat?" Doctor Directors eye was now blowing holes in Agent Smith.

"Yes."

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Ron made sure that he had a firm grip on his stomach before he went inside the garage. He didn't like blood, something to do with a bug that one of the other kids in kindergarten had squashed and the . . . innards had splattered all over him (sending Ron screaming into the bushes and only Kim could coax him out for the teacher to see the damage – of which there was none) and other than what he saw in movies like 'Bricks of Fury' (which he had managed to convince himself was fake he hoped), he tried to avoid contact with it entirely.

He tried to also make sure he had a firm grip on . . . other things. He did not know how Bonnie had gotten loose, but the fact that she had, and was here, and had been in a fight . . . and the Yamanuchi ninja's were nowhere to be seen was truly significant to him.

Sensei would not have called them off without telling him. Bonnie would not have been freed without the ninja's participation or at least cooperation, direct or indirect. So whatever had happened had to have had Sensei's approval if not support—

But again, Ron hadn't been told.

Ron sensed deep waters around him. He would have to tread carefully.

Then Ron's mind came back to the here and now, as he stepped up toward the little clutch of people, he found himself feeling that faint wet feeling at the back of his throat of nausea—

There was a massive puddle that covered . . . quite a bit of the floor.

Tara was kneeling in it . . . as it soaked into the legs of her slacks. She was pale and her face was filled with horror and fright, as she held one of Bonnie's hands as if trying to will her strength into her friend. Ms Whitler was kneeling in it as well, but her face was grim and focused as she was tightly held something to Bonnie's side where it appeared the sweatshirt she had been wearing had been cut away. Whitler was gingerly touching the other areas of Bonnie's exposed torso and what she was feeling apparently was not good as Whitler's face became grimmer.

Ron came to a stop and looked . . .

He felt himself . . . he . . . he really wasn't sure just what it was that he felt at that moment.

Bonnie's skin was almost that of putty. She appeared as limp as a wet towel. Ron took in all the visible bruising and injuries, the blood on her clothes and her face/mouth. His mind went back to the quick, also nauseating glimpse he had taken of Carla Ethome.

Ron shook his head; it must have been a heck of a fight. But what could he do about it? What did he want to do about it? Did he really care? Did he—

"Damn," muttered Whitler drawing Ron's attention back.

Tara looked at the Coach with huge eyes. "What is it?" she said in a small, frightened voice.

"I think she's bleeding out on the inside," the coach replied, looking at the teen girl as if to prepare her for the worst. "I don't think she's gonna make it until the ambulance gets here."

If it was possible for Tara's eyes to go even wider. Then she looked down at Bonnie's face in total disbelief and said without speaking, "no, please . . . no."

Tara's head then came up and looked around—

Locking on Ron, recognition coming in an instant . . . desperate hope and silent pleading coming a moment later.

Ron felt his insides lock up. He looked back at Tara, every part of his being denying what she wanted because there was no way he could . . .

No . . . . . . . he—he _could . . . . . . ._

But should he? SHOULD HE!?!

He looked down at Bonnie, then back up at Tara . . .

Deep waters—

In the clutch—

Then he too was kneeling down in the blood, but his mind was no longer on it. It was preparing for . . .

Whitler looked over, startled and angry as he knelt beside her. She started to open her mouth to tell him to get away—

Their eyes met . . . and Whitler's mouth snapped shut.

Ron was already placing his one hand over and around Whitler's where she was holding the wound. But he continued to look at her as he said in a shaky voice, "I can do this ma'am. Why don't you take all the other kids out (as he nodded to the group of students who were standing and watching, crying, holding one another) of here and start helping them deal with all this." His voice dropped to a whisper, "that way, they don't have to see . . . you know, if it happens." Ron then looked down at the wound. "I can handle this until the ambulance gets here. I have the training."

Whitler continued to look at the boy with amazement. But it lasted only a moment. She nodded her understanding and slowly drew her hands away allowing Ron to get his one hand in and apply the proper pressure. Whitler then stood, heedless of the fact that the knees and legs of her trousers were soaked through with Bonnie's blood, and waved an arm at all the other students, ordered them gently to start walking out.

Whitler then looked down at Tara and said her name gently.

Tara violently shook her head. "I'm not going!"

Ron looked at her, and in a tone that was almost pleading for him, "please Tara, you can't do any good here. I'll take care of her. Go help Ms Whiter take care of the other kids."

"No!" came the vehement reply and a hard-faced rebellious look came to the blond. "You'll have to drag me away."

It took only a moment for Ron to make the decision. He wasn't happy about it, but there was no time to argue. "Fine," he said gently. To Whitler he then said, "go ahead ma'am, I've got it. Take care of the others."

Whiter gave the blond boy a long searching look, then nodded and stepped away, continuing to herd the other kids out.

"Tara?" Ron said softly.

She was whimpering now. "Yes?"

"Promise me," was all he said.

Tara, after a moment, looked up at him questioningly. "What?"

"Just promise me Tara. I can't explain it, and you wouldn't understand—"

Tara looked at the blond boy before her, noted his face and its look.

She didn't understand . . . and somehow she did. "I promise Ron."

Ron nodded to her then dropped his head back down to look at the wound. He then, slowly . . . hesitatingly, reached in and put his other hand there as well. He then closed his eyes . . .

With power . . .

He had had the training—

Even if he had no strength for it. He would just have to use something else—

Deep Waters Ron Stoppable—

With power . . . came responsibility.

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"Sir?" Kim said very quietly but also very forcefully. "I need to talk to this girl. It's vital that I determine if she had information." She had been patiently waiting for quite some time as the agents finished sorting out what had happened, brought up a couple of vehicles to hold the two gang members until the local police arrived and dealt with the students there and the others who where arriving in response to the commotion.

"I'm sorry," the Lead Agent replied, "but I'm afraid that's not possible Ms Possible. I can't let you talk to her. And if I did, I would be doing you a great disservice." There was a pleading look in his face. "I can't tell you why, but you just have to trust me on this."

Kim hesitated a moment. This clearly wasn't an official who was being stubborn or arrogant. He seemed genuinely concerned—

And that concerned her, considering what little she knew for sure about the massive conglomerate of agencies and operations that had to be involved in this matter.

Kim looked down to see the bloody, battered form of Carla Ethome. She was conscious now, handcuffed and still on the ground as she sobbed, half folded around her fiery ribs. They were apparently waiting for an ambulance to check her out as well before moving her.

"Whatever it is," Kim said softly to the Lead Agent, "I'll deal with it. There isn't time to—"

"You may not be able to . . . deal with it," was the Agents grim comeback. "In fact," he then added with a heavy tone of warning, "it could kill you."

Kim's mind raced. _He_ wasn't threatening her, but he sounded like he was aware of something else that was . . . and was trying to protect her . . . and thought that whatever it was that was aimed at her . . . could actually kill her. Who or what was he aware of that—

Then her Kimmunicator beeped.

"What's the sitch Wade?"

"Think I've got your connection Kim," came the young geniuses reply. "Seems that Carla Ethome has been dealing with a bank that set up a secure account under an AKA, which also shows her as an adult. A steady stream of deposits have been going into it for the past several months." Wade now gave her his significant look. "And that's not all," Wade continued with a big grin on his face. "One of the companies that Carla's dad is part owner of, is one of the real estate company that owns and rents out some of the 'villain time shares'. They control some right here in Middleton—"

"Ms Possible," the Lead Agent spoke up abruptly, "I urge you to stop right here. You need to believe me that your life is in danger."

Wade's face creased. "Who's that?"

Kim gave the agent an annoyed look. "I'll explain later. Now about—"

And Kim cried out startled as the Agent ripped the Kimmunicator out of her hands.

"What are you—" she started to yell as she reached out—

"I'm trying," and Kim rocked back as the Lead Agents face was suddenly in hers and his anger boiled above the surface, "to save you're life! We have been told that if you're allowed to interfere in the current crisis that you will be—" and the Agent suddenly snapped his mouth closed as he realized that his anger/worry had gotten the better of him and allowed his brain/mouth to run.

Kim took this all in, put it through her own mental computer and—

She glared at him as she crossed her arms. "There's a hit on me if I get my nose in too deep. Someone is afraid that I'll screw up their ops. Kind of like Team Impossible did to me until I convinced them to do otherwise—"

The Lead Agent nodded grimly but kept his mouth shut.

"Is Drakken about to let his plot loose?" Kim asked with some heat. "Are they willing to maybe have something disastrous happen just because they're sweating out a 'turf war'. Are they trying to impress someone and get a bigger budget or something? Are they OUT OF THEIR MINDS?!?"

The Agent could only hold up one hand to try and deflect her ire. "Look, privately I would like to agree with you, but my hands are tied and—"

His last words were drowned out by several sirens as the ambulances and Middleton Police at last started to arrive. Kim was trying hard to hold onto her rapidly building temper as she didn't want to get herself deeper than she already was with this man. If nothing else, she had to get the Kimmunicator back as gently as possible.

The sirens died and the Agent had moved away to begin coordinating this part of the event. Kim stood and fumed. She wondered how Ron was doing but she didn't want to go see because then she would see Bonnie . . . and she had also been trying to suppress the events and feelings from the last time she had seen Bonnie—

"RRROOOONNNNNN?!?!"

Kim turned and bolted into the garage—

It was Tara's voice that was screaming again—

And it was even more filled with fear and shock than it had been the first time—

And considering whose name it was that Tara was screaming . . . it did the same to her.

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Mrs. Dr P stood holding hear breath as the procedure continued. There was so much at stake and so much that was unknown. Any little quirk or glitch could—

At that moment her cell beeped an incoming text message. Without a thought of anything but it had to be her daughter with some kind of new crisis, she whipped it out

_Got a very interesting phone call. Have no choice but to act on it. Will be gone a little while and have given your other guest a little something to make sure she will stay out. The security system will watch the rest of the house until you get home. I don't think I will be home in time to help with dinner, will call if there's a further problem._

Anne's mind threatened to close down but she rallied. Considering everything that was going on, their guest would only do what they were doing due to the gravest circumstances—

And as far as Shego, Anne hoped that Kim and Ron were home soon enough to take up the slack—

Because right now, she certainly wasn't going anywhere.

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Kim found Ron collapsed next to Bonnie. Tara was holding his head up from the concrete and blood. The blond Cheer Captain was staring at her with guilt and disbelief on her face.

"Tara? What happened to him?" Kim cried in alarm as she dropped down and . . . she checked his pulse first—

It felt really weak.

"Tara?!?!" was all Kim managed to say as the fear and alarm magnified tenfold within her.

Tara could only shake her head and mutter something. Kim tried to understand what it was that Tara was saying . . . not believing that she couldn't make it out this close with her friend looking right at her. "Tara, what happened?" Kim tried again in desperation.

Tara stopped, choking on tears . . . she then erupted, "I'm sorry Kim. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. I didn't know . . . no one knew . . . but Ron was so tired and hurt . . . he shouldn't have done it . . . I shouldn't have asked him. IT'S ALL MY FAULT!" and the blond collapsed into herself, face in hands, almost wildly hysterical—

Kim stared at Tara in horror; completely devoid on understanding even as she dropped down, putting her arms around her boyfriend, numbly realizing just how cold his body was—

It was as if the very life had been drained out of him.

Then Kim looked beside them—

And sucked in a breath when she realized that Bonnie's eyes were open . . . and alert . . . and were staring back at her holding Ron with an understanding horror all their own.

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"Is that a threat?" Doctor Directors eye was now blowing holes in Agent Smith.

"Yes."

"I have some threats to deal out on my own," said a sudden voice from the direction of the briefing room door. "So everyone curb yours until I'm done."

All heads snapped around to see a statuesque black woman in the door with a look on her face that was most unhappy—

Which was how the look on Agent Smith's face became, even as he paled and started to sweat unrestricted.

"'Redoubt,'" Doctor Director greeted the newcomer as if she was both immensely surprised and greatly relieved. "Welcome to Global Justice headquarters—" at this moment, the woman who was most definitely a 'power who be', came further into the room—

And those in the briefing room saw the form of small female figure standing behind 'Redoubt' in the shadow of the entrance—

"Leathered Lace," the gray haired FBI man (who had had the honor of meeting this legendary figure when he was in his early years) breathed in awe.

"And she's the reason I'm here," snapped 'Redoubt' with a tone of steel. She then looked to Agent Smith and started firing at him in a rapid-fire tirade, "reestablish all Comm protocols for all agencies and entities. All black ops are terminated as of this moment. Any and all subsidiary, divisional, diversional and peripheral operations—especially ones that have caused anyone to be detained and/or incarcerated, are also terminated—get those who have been locked up, anywhere in the world, OUT as of this time yesterday! I will have the head and balls of anyone who hesitates, delays or hinders a release! All normal legal and operational standards are reinstated and again, anyone who tries to sweep something under the rug is dog food!"

Agent Smith at this point looked about six inches tall. He nodded meekly as he withdrew his very secure phone handset and set about his newly assigned task.

'Redoubt' then turned back to the rest of the room. "All right everybody; we have a madman ready to destroy the world. What do we know and what can we do about it _right now_?"

Now standing in the shadows by the briefing room door, Leathered Lace allowed herself a smile as Doctor Director stepped over to her. The Doctors shoulder was bare now; the little creature that had almost become a permanent fixture there in recent days had immediately scampered over to Leathered Lace where he was enthusiastically hugging her neck.

"Thank you," was all the Director said.

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A/N: So we come to the end of this section. I had a lot of fun writing it as it was both a challenge to get things the way I envisioned them as well as just FUN for me.

I again want to single out spectre666, Charles Gray, CajunBear73, AtomicFire, creativetoo, Joe Stoppinghem, whitem and Ultimate Naco Topping for their continuing support. It's been a great inspiration.

So now things will be forced to slow down again. I have not been able to write anything extensive in two weeks and will not be able to resume again for at least another week. But as has been said, this closes this section, and I have started on the next, which is Ladies and Gentlemen (are any ladies reading this? I would be curious to know. Of my current consistent readers, those whose bios have the info are reflected to be male, and the handles of the rest are not gender specific. If there are any ladies reading this, I would be curious to know their take on this from their perspective), is in fact the climax. Progress is being made (at least as far as Global Justice's failure to stop 'he who used to be Drakken', but I've still got loose ends to tie in (and some to just tuck in as well) so once again this duck want to make sure all of his relatives are in a row before publishing once again.

So until then, I remain—

Your humble servant—

The Wise Duck


	33. To many Facets Variables Too Much Drama

A/N: Okay, here goes. I hope you like what's here. Lot of work, lot of conflict as a writer, a lot of challenge because of changes in the last block that grossly affected things in this block. Still working on the last part of the final chapter (at seven chapters and 48,000+ words so far), but now ready to post the rest as it gets cleaned up.

I hope you enjoy what I've done.

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"Kim?"

MrsDrP looked in from the door of the hospital room at the sight of her daughter draped over the still form of her boyfriend. A daughter who slowly, painfully it seemed, raised her head, turning it toward her mother, reveling swollen, puffy eyes, red nose and checks stained from crying of an almost desperate, despondent whirlwind of emotions.

"Moooooooommmmmmmm!" came the childlike wail as Kim came off of the bed and rushed her mother, who stepped into the room, rocking back and almost falling from the force of the impact as her daughter tried to wrap herself around her parent. MrsDrP struggled to steer the both of them to the waiting chairs as she tried to both give comfort and gain information as to the latest calamity to encounter Ron Stoppable.

It was however; several minutes before she could even get some kind of control onto her daughter. Kim's crying has erupted anew and was close to hysterical at times; her babbling was just that, babbling. But from it, Anne got the gist of what had happened and how it was affecting her daughter.

Ron's vitals were very, very weak, his appearance was close to that of someone dead . . . and he hadn't moved—so much as a twitch—

And Kim, after seeing Ron in so much pain, with so many injuries (some of which had been inflicted by her causing a huge dose of guilt wallowing) lying in _another_ hospital bed and this time they did not know the reason why.

Then MrsDrP caught something that she didn't understand, "what was that about Bonnie? I know just a little of what happened at school, but what does it have to do with what happened to Ron?"

"Because," Kim sobbed, not even attempting to get a grip on her emotions, "Ron was trying to help Bonnie and she passed out and was bleeding to death and now Ron is like this and Bonnie's awake and something happened to her knife wound and she's not dying but Ron is acting like he is and no one can tell me why and why, _why, WHY, __**WHY!!!**_did this happen to him when he's been through so much and what's going to happen to him and—"

"Honey, calm down . . . "

"I don't _want_ to calm down!" Kim wailed in despair. "I want Ron to be okay!"

"Kimberly," her mother intoned in a now stern voice. "I know you're upset but you're also getting out of hand. Calm down! I just got here and I don't have any information to work with. So you need to work with me and you can't do that the way you are."

Kim, only through a mighty effort, attempted to get a hold of herself. She was only partially successful as when she did manage to control at least her tears and crying, she was left looking sullen and rebellious even as she worked at rubbing the remaining tears out of her eyes. "That's another thing" the teen moped in an angry/hurt tone, "one of the nurses said you were called _hours_ ago. Where were you?"

"I was at the Space Center," her mom answered gently. "I didn't hear about what happened at school until I caught the eight o'clock news broadcast on the radio on my way over and it was maddingly brief. Then I came right in here so I haven't had a chance to find out from the duty staff just what kind of tests they ran on Ron and what the results were."

Kim's brain did not _want_ to work but she was still an Alpha Female and those sort of things were hard to control—

"The Space Center," she wondered. "What were you doing—" and then her emerald eyes got very big as her mouth formed a huge "O"—

Kim was actually shaking as hard as her hands which had gone into a sudden trembling, her voice was a little, frightened whisper, "I—I—is—is Felix . . . ?"

"We don't know dear," her mom again answered. But Kim's mom's face had turned soft, with just a hint of . . . could it be hope in her eyes. "The scientist who caused the accident to Felix was being blackmailed. He had a way to correct the problem, but it wasn't guaranteed. We had no choice but to try it . . . "

"And," Kim breathed as her entire self moved to the very edge of the abyss.

"We . . . don't know for sure," her mother admitted and Kim felt herself start to go over into that abyss. "But," her mom said, fiercely capturing her daughter's eyes with her own, rescuing Kim from that fall, "something happened, and we hope it's for the good. Felix's brain waves, his EEG's have returned to the 'norm' that was recorded before the experiment. But he's still in a coma . . . which considering the trauma is to be expected." Her mom had to give a little helpless shrug. "So now we wait to see if he comes out of it, if he ever does."

"Oh mom," Kim whispered, not knowing if she should feel joy or despair. "Is there anything else that . . . ' and Kim just kind of trailed off.

The look of hope was a little stronger in her mom's eyes. "Hope dear, hope. That's all anyone can do right now. If might also be a good thing for you to go see Felix. He might know that you're there and that would help as well."

"I can't leave Ron to go to the Space Center." Kim cried, the wail returning.

Anne Possible gripped her daughter hard by the shoulders. "Felix isn't at the Space Center honey, he's here, in the hospital. I followed the ambulance over in our van. The research medical facility at the Center was never set up to ever handle this kind of thing."

Kim blinked at this information before she glanced at the still form of her boyfriend in the bed. She was clearly torn.

"I need to check Ron," her mom said firmly. "And there just might be something else that you would help you if you went and saw Felix."

Kim looked at her mother, suddenly confused. "Wha—"

Her mom just held up her hand. "Don't worry, you'll understand. Just go . . . and get something to eat while you're at it. You look terrible."

"Thanks," Kim groused. "But," and she looked longingly back at Ron. "who will keep Ron company?" she wondered.

"What do we look like," came a voice from the other side of the room, "chopped naco?"

The two redheaded women looked to see Ron's parents standing in the corner near the window. Their faces held understanding smiles but the stress, fear and anxiety was clearly visible underneath. "We've been here for hours Kim," Ron father snorted with some amusement. "You were just so into our son, I don't think you ever noticed us."

Kim brought one hand up to her mouth as her face turned the color of her hair. "Oh, I am soooo sorry . . . " she started.

Ron's mom waved her away. "Another reason why I think you a little too intense for my son Kim," but then her smile turned warm. "But at the same time, I can't deny the love and dedication to my son that is so evident in you. So go!" and again she was waving her hands but in a shooing motion, "at least get something to eat. You're wasting away and I think you're already too thin to be a good wife and mother. And I intend to do something about that when the time comes."

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"Our analysis," the FBI head said sullenly, "done as extensively as possible without actually questioning him, does not reveal any connection, overt, covert or otherwise between Saul Ethome and our quarry."

'Redoubt' frowned and looked over at all those gathered at the Global Justice briefing table. "Do we know for sure that there is any connection at all?" "Redoubt's' gaze hardened further. "Could this all have been a smoke screen for . . . "

NSA man was gently tapping his chin into his clenched fists as his elbows rested on the table in front of him. "I don't think so," he said tentatively. "Whatever faults . . . that op community might have, I can't believe that they wound misdirect us so badly considering what is alleged—"

"I'll bet they orchestrated this whole thing from the beginning," the Interpol man said angrily.

'Redoubt' knew only now, just how close to the truth this statement was. But, thanks to the call on the extreme secure hard line that she had taken right before this meeting, she had at least a better understanding of what was going on . . . and why she had been initially out of the loop. And being that she knew that even now, she wasn't totally 'in' the loop, she had to make sure that her bases were covered and her cards held closely. At this point, she hoped that 'Leathered Lace' and 'Head Knife' were satisfied with proceedings. If they weren't, she might not be able to help them because of what she knew now; what was 'really' going on . . . the orders directing it came right from the very top . . . and there could be no stopping it.

But 'Redoubt' was also bound by the necessary facts of reality within the shadow world of 'wet work' so she did not want to aggravate the situation any further. She also had both a situation to attend to . . . and another situation from which all other attention would have to be diverted. "Be that as it may," she therefore said to get the conversation back onto the track that she wanted, "we have a reasonable belief that 'Madman Blue' is a very real threat that we must deal with." She then looked grimly around the table. "And that he's here in Middleton. So, if Saul Ethome isn't the key to locating him, who is?"

Doctor Director's one eye was narrowed in concentration. And it was with a tentative, but firm voice, she ventured, "how about his daughter, Carla?"

'Redoubt' gave the Doctor a quizzical look inviting further . . .

Doctor Director continued to concentrate as she slowly spelled out, "I mean . . . we know that she and the Rockwaller girl were involved in a separate plot to undermine and degrade 'Fearless Red'. Indications are that Carla Ethome is a schemer and a criminal operator who despite her age, seems bound and determined to try to eclipse her own father in criminal activity. She's by every measure, egotistical and completely ambitious without a scrap of morals . . . " The Doctor looked to the FBI man. "And considering 'Plasma's' profile, an egotistical, maniacal, ambitious, immoral partner who would also be bendable and subject to manipulation as only an inexperienced youngster could be would be a much more likely partner than an old hard case, which is exactly what Daddy Ethome would be."

'Redoubt' was looking at Doctor Director with shrewd appreciation. She then looked to the FBI man and asked, "didn't we just get a brief of some kind from earlier today of the Ethome daughter being involved in something at her high school that caused her surveillance to move in?" And 'Redoubt's' eyes narrowed further as more was pulled from her memory. "And wasn't 'Fearless Red' the one who took her down before your agents actually got there?"

The FBI man looked both upset and anxious over this subject. "I—I—we—ah—" and he had to stop and get his thoughts organized. But he was interrupted by his 'secure' phone and with a distracted 'excuse me', he answered it with sharp, low tones.

"Be that as it may," Doctor Director said quietly to make a point, "it may be that Carla Ethome can not help us right now . . . as my information indicates that she was severely injured during the incident mentioned and is currently out of the picture."

"'Fearless Red' and the rest of Team Possible," Doctor Director then said firmly, trying to make it sound as if what she was saying should be considered a 'no brainer' to the group around her, "should be brought in right now, given a full briefing and sent out to _stop_ 'Madman Blue' before its too late."

'Redoubt' rubbed at the end of her nose in thought. "Given that we still don't know where "Madman Blue' is and that 'World Web Wizard' still isn't fully operational . . . _plus_ the fact that 'Scared Sidekick' is apparently down and out of action from the same incident at the school, I hesitate to—"

"'Madman Blue' has been located," the FBI man said suddenly, a look of intense satisfaction on his face.

An electric bolt went through the room. "How?" 'Redoubt' managed.

The FBI man waved off one hand. "I'm not sure. The Field Agent that was in charge of the team that took Carla Ethome into custody after the event at the high school apparently . . . acquired some information . . . I'm not sure from whom, maybe Ethome before she was put under—"

Doctor Directors eye narrowed. Her information was that the girl was in a secure medical facility under heavy medication and therefore was probably _not_ the source of the information. That meant to her that the FBI was deliberately concealing where they had gotten the info from. She knew that things had to start being pulled out from under the paranoid folds of government secrecy. "Let's get the information to Team Possible at once," she demanded, trying to project an image of not willing to back down an inch.

The FBI man hesitated, clearly unhappy with the suggestion. He looked to 'Redoubt'. "Ma'am? My people already have the location surrounded. I'd like to give permission to go in."

'Redoubt' was eyeing him gravely. "Do we know for sure that he's in there?"

The discomfort in the FBI's mans face grew. "Not one hundred percent ma'am. The location is drawing an enormous amount of power and it _is_ one of the time shares that Saul Ethome owns that is rented out to villains on a regular basis."

After a moment, 'Redoubt' shook her head. "Then you don't have a basis for the emergency exigent circumstances that your agency needs for a warrantless search."

An unhappy look came over the FBI man's face and he acknowledged, "yes ma'am."

"Ma'am," thrust in Doctor Director, "lets call in Team Possible. They can find out in—"

"No," said Redoubt firmly. Doctor Director looked stunned. The other woman turned to the Global Justice chief and said in a more gentle tone. "I appreciate you're loyalty to them Doctor. And normally, yes, they would be the first and only pick for this job. But—"

And 'Redoubts' eyes scanned around all the faces at the table before continuing. "But as has been said, Team Possible is right now disrupted and probably well below par in their ability to operate. Especially if 'Scared Sidekick' is out of action."

Then 'Redoubt' eyes went back to Doctor Director. Her gaze was now hard and demanded obedience. "Considering the extra legal implications and the probability of high-tech defenses, I think that it would be best if Global Justice make the . . . evaluation of the target location."

Doctor Director felt her chest tighten at this pronouncement. Her own organization with still in a state of disruption from the weeks of information/communication warfare as well as the recent trial and tribulations subjected on it from their former 'bosses'—

But there was in reality, only one answer that she could give 'Redoubt'.

"Yes, ma'am, we're on it."

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It was a cold, dark night, in a cold, dark spot, illuminated only by the ambient light from the lit structures surrounding the area at distance. But the man, who was standing just under the concealment of a tree wasn't looking at the view. One should never let one's guard down when one was one of there very few 'deep black hole operatives'. So this short, slender oriental man with the full beard made automatic checks of his entire '360' every couple of moments.

He also was not a happy man. He had received a directive per the usual channels for a meet in this secluded area of New York's Central Park less than an hour ago . . .

His primary operation was coming to a head over in Colorado and between all the communications and other agencies blockages; he had no idea what the status of things were. Triple and quadruple crosses where his specialty, what made him to be in demand when certain members of his government wanted something changed or done or a 'clear message' sent to someone in a . . . very certain way, and although he had had to, as usual, organize this current operation on the fly, his masters had been quite pleased with the results.

But in order to make it work, he had to keep on top of it. And that he was _not_ doing by standing here in a very dark, very cold park. And considering that he was having to ride heard on a triple cross that involved two of the best in his business, let alone _the_ top amateur team around—

And at the same time he needed to start the process of casting off his connection to the inside info link in order to distance himself prior to the actual event. And this annoyed/worried him right now more than he wanted to admit. For earlier in the day, he had just started to receive a text message from that sources PDA when it was abruptly cut off . . . and never renewed. Now he had already been ignoring that source for the last couple of days expecting the FBI to move in on it—

But nothing had reached him from his other sources involved . . . so he had to start worrying about a breakdown somewhere—

A constant consideration in triple and quadruple crosses.

Then his eyes snapped over to a figure approaching him through the dark.

The figure walked up to him hands in its pockets against the chill . . . the oriental man waited for the code sign—

And the figure shot him from one of the pockets of its great coat.

The round unerringly hit the operative in the face leaving no time for the almond shaped eyes to even go wide. Hands tried to jerk out of their own coat pockets but the hand gripping the small weapon in one of those pockets was already going limp.

As the operative went down, the hand of the figure came out of that ruined coat pocket and the silenced pistol gave a second 'coupe de grace' shot to the side of the operative's head.

The figure leaned over the body and working with sure quickness, took its wallet, watch and the small weapon.

The figure then turned and walked back up the trail to the main pathway.

Minutes later, the figure deposited its hat, coat, the wallet, watch and weapon into a waiting dumpster that had a city sanitation truck already waiting at hand. The trucks operator gave the tall man with the boyish, charismatic features and the cold steady look no mind. The truck operator was paid handsomely on the side for night work like this and he knew the odds of ever encountering this man again were slim and none.

The man now entered a non-descript car and drove away, thinking that the 'operatives' employers in the government would be quite shocked in the morning—

And the operatives 'masters', who were currently headquartered somewhere in the Mediterranean, would also be quite disturbed, probably as early as next week.

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Kim was not happy. She did not want to leave Ron. But at the same time, she knew that she would feel _guilty_ if she didn't see Felix . . . and she was already feeling guilty enough over Ron that she did not need a fresh dose of it.

In the low light of the room, Kim felt her stomach go queasy. She had not seen Felix since the initial time she and Ron had gone to the Center right after the night in the treehouse. _He's wasted away to nothing_ she barely managed as a new kind of guilt threatened to overwhelm her. _I should have gone to see him more. Maybe mom was right. Maybe he can tell we're out here and that might have helped him. He looks so—_

"Oh dear God!" came a whispered voice from the direction of the door. A voice filled with unimaginable terror and agony—

A voice that didn't belong here, but one that Kim missed almost as much as she missed Ron's voice right now.

Kim's head snapped around to see Monique standing in the door, pale to the point that she was almost gray, both hands pressed against her cheeks in complete horror.

"Mon—" Kim breathed as if she was seeing a ghost—

And thankfulness that her reflexes where back shot through Kim as she leapt at and grabbed her friend just as Monique's eyes rolled into the back of her head and she started to go down—

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The Congressman was angry . . . and scared.

And neither helped his driving on the twisting river road, conditions on which were compounded by the combination of snow and rain that was confronting him.

As if he needed something else confronting him.

The sudden call that he was needed in the command post—

He didn't like it one bit. He had been trying to stay out of any situation where information could be funneled to him in order to strengthen his 'plausible deniability'. His contacts with his operation chief, required by his position in the ''black' congressional oversight committee for unconventional operations' had been strictly by written daily reports (destroyed after reading). This had enabled him to maintain his cover as the head of his 'discussion group' and yet take the steps for their specific agenda to be pushed forward.

He had been nervous and hesitant about the current 'step', which he had personally verbally authorized several hours ago, (despite the fact that he was not actually in that particular 'chain of command' but he couldn't dither). He was hesitant that that the step was being taken because of the multitude of unpredictable factors and uncalculated risks, which as far as he was concerned, had grown to unfavorable proportions and he desired that one of them be eliminated strictly for simplicities sake. But at the same time, it dangerously exposed the whole operation to unwanted review by the higher powers. And he was nervous because, as was said, he had authorized the action despite being outside the COC, and the type of order that he had given was normally done only at the highest levels . . . and he had compromised his plausible deniability by doing it. And there was no comfort that the reason why he had been forced to take those steps was his inability to contact his 'cutout' to the actual man he had chosen to effect the operation—

But he hadn't spoken or heard from 'Crossword' in several days, so all his current information was from his now missing 'cutouts' or the command post or . . . the people he would rather not even _think_ about even though he had only recently spoken to one of them on the secure line not that long ago—

And now this bothersome phone call—

He—

The Congressman's face/eyes/mouth slammed wide open . . .

It was a tight curve but there was a wide 'turn out' on the riverside. But, a large truck had sideswiped the guardrail earlier in the day almost taking the railing totally down. The area before the broken rail was liberally festooned with cones, flashing lamp barricades and alike as it was a sheer fifty-foot drop to the swollen, raging _cold_ river . . .

But a motorcycle, insane that it was out in this kind of weather anyway, was going the other way and had partially lost it on the slick road, going into the oncoming lane—

The large, comfortable sedan with the Government plates that the motorcycle swerved in front of handled like a tank on the best of days, the driver . . . the Congressman . . . was distracted and certainly not in any kind of prime physical or mental fitness. He reacted by jerking the wheel over and jamming on the brakes—

The motorcycle, as if it suddenly had eyes of its own and tires that were glued to the wet pavement did an incredible twist to get out of the big sedans way—

The sedan went into a four-wheeled locked spinning skid right into the turn out—

Right through the weakened guard rail . . . and down into the river.

There would be no survivors.

Traffic of course started to pull over and stop, people getting out, cellphones already to their ears.

The motorcycle itself stopped just down the road. The rider swiveled around to look back, considering the scene behind it for just a moment, the way it was twisted about in its tight black fully-covering body suit revealed that it had a narrow waist and wide hips, marking it as probably a fit and trim female—the matching full helmet making the persons identity totally impossible to ascertain . . .

The motorcycle then roared off without going back to the scene of the accident it had just been a part of . . . and the witnesses present, due to the weather, reduced visibility and the distance involved (they had all opened up their spacing between cars due to the two factors above) really didn't even think about the involvement of the motorcycle when it came time to tell the authorities—

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Kim was eternally grateful that Monique's parents had been standing right behind her which allowed Monique's father to gather his daughter up out of the strained, awkward embrace that Kim had to throw on her friend to keep her from going to the floor. It was also a good indication of the drive and force in Monique's personality for she was already trying to fight her way back to consciousness even before Kim and her dad had gotten her maneuvered into a nearby chair.

As Monique's mom went to fetch a nurse, Kim was kneeling down in front of her friend, gently stroking her cheek and hair with one hand while propping her by the shoulder with the other.

"Monique—" Kim whispered urgently as the black girls head lolled back up and the eyes came open . . . but they were bleary and unfocused—

And in reality, Kim was glad that they were as it gave her a chance to settle herself after seeing Monique in something other than the baggy Juvenile Hall clothes . . . for she realized that her friend was almost as emaciated as Felix was. Monique's normally full heart-shaped face was hollow checked with eyes that were in deep, almost skeleton like pockets. Her pants were slack and almost embarrassingly low on her hips with pelvis bones visible—

Then Kim quickly straightened her horrified features away as it seemed that Monique, through pure force of will, sucked in a breath, squared her shoulders and forced her eyes into focus—

"Easy honey," her dad said, "don't try anything until you're sure that you're all right."

"I'm fine dad," came the horse whisper as one of Monique's hands came up to hold the side of her forehead. Monique's head/eyes then came level—

Staring directly into Kim's . . .

Who sucked in a hard breath as her friend was instantly wrapped around her with an almost sobbing, "oohhhhhh Kiiimmmmmmm!"

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In the well-lit room with all the women working diligently at the monitors and consoles, the attractive blond at the head of the table was again listening diligently into her earbug. After a moment, she simply said into her throat mike, "understood".

She then turned her swivel chair all the way around to a console with a single phone handset which she picked up—

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It was the same man is the dark suit who sat in that same pitch-black room. It's dimensions still unknown; the only light still the dim, toned-down screens and lighted dials and switches on the desk and consoles around him. He had a phone receiver at his ear . . .

"Very good," was all he said prior to replacing the receiver in its cradle.

He carefully folded his hands on the table and took a deep breath, allowing his eyes to loose themselves in the darkness across the room as he always did when these moments came. He was glad that he didn't carry the ultimate responsibility, but it was his job to see that the . . . person who had given the 'go' orders . . . was advised of the results.

The man glanced at the open folder; at the photos of the agent once known as 'Crossword' and of the late, soon to be lamented congressman—

He was relieved that this responsibility was done. From this black hole deep underground, his superior's wishes had been carried out . . . be they whatever they might be.

He reached back for his phone—

His grim, cold satisfaction showed on his face—

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"Thank you," said the important man in the brightly lit office, one from which through the broad undraped window, the late evening traffic of a national capital streamed past through the narrow canyon between plain faced office buildings. The darkness outside was lit in the distance by the glowing rotunda that housed the legislative portion of government.

The important man, a large, very aging, heavy jowled man with a bald head, now settled heavily, deeply into the padded chair, the weight of his responsibilities and all the potential liabilities, rumors, trip falls, news leaks and speculation which would run wild—

He didn't care about that, he really didn't care about what had just been done, he only cared that it had been. He then looked up to the very important man who sat across from him and said simply, "it's done."

The very important man nodded, then after a moment, asked quietly, "and the situation in Colorado?"

The important man gave a shrug but there was an unhappy gleam in his eye. "Redoubt' has already taken charge there."

The very important man raised an eyebrow at the others obvious unhappiness.

The important man made a throwing away gesture with one hand. "As far as I'm concerned, she's gone far over the line in pushing it back into a critical response mode. I . . . 'advised' her that she should just let it die out of its own accord. But no, she has to keep her finger on the panic button. And not only that, when she authorizes a strike operation, she gives it to those good-for-nothing idiots at Global Justice." The man snorted loudly and growled in an angry voice, "I mean . . . why for Gods sake. That blue faced whack has been trying to 'take over the world' (air quotes) for how long now, and look who his 'arch nemesis' (ditto) is? As far as I'm concerned, that bumbling quack has never really been a danger. Anyone who can be repeatedly taken out by some snot-nosed baby-faced bare-bellied teen 'cheerleader', is probably more of a danger to himself than anybody else."

The very important mans eyes narrowed and said softly, "Those up top don't agree with—"

"I know," the important man said waving the admonishment away. "But they only get the filtered briefings, not the in depth stuff that I would have to wade though. And to tell the Goddamn truth, it's gotten so that I don't pay any attention to that crap any more myself. Same goes for all the other 'villains' and 'heroes' that are running around nowadays. Should take them all and stand them up against a wall somewhere, after a 'fair' trail for first-degree stupidity that is."

The very important man shook his head. "Didn't you tell me once that you thought that Elvis should have been 'stood up against a wall' and that would have prevented the 'entire corruption of the American society'? Things don't work like that anymore."

"Well, they should," the important man grumbled. "It would make all this other garbage unnecessary. It would make all those idiotic 'superheroes' unnecessary. The fact that this whole op was rigged the way it was from its initial conception by the prime team from Section Ex-ray, doing a damn fine job of it in my opinion, in order to show just what a bunch of clowns all those idiots are in the first place. If we had instituted a program of control years ago when these 'whacks' first started to appear, what is going on now would never have been necessary. _And_ if those liberal idiots in congress would keep their nose out of special ops and just understand that these things just have to exist . . ."

"I think; and I've said it from the beginning," the very important man said tersely with a hint of warning in his voice, "that this whole operation was and still is, unnecessarily complex and dangerous with a disarming lack of positive control."

"There is no such thing as positive control in this kind of operation except the 'go' order and you know that," the important man said peevishly. "and look at the benefits. The operation was created out of thin air; and the prime team should get the congressional for their work with it as far as I'm concerned, because we've been looking for a way to justify the 'resurrection' of Section Ex-ray and this whole 'crisis' was a godsend. "Crossword' was set up to take it in the shorts over it because he pissed off too many VIP's over his last couple of ops. And low and behold, it's discovered that he already _is_ a traitor and that sets up your suddenly dear-departed colleague who gives us absolute infallible 'plausible deniability' because he 'is' someone."

The important man shook his head with a musing look. "Now there's no doubt that it's going to hurt our position in the short run, considering _his_ position on both the committee and in the 'discussion group'. God knows that all of our 'elected officials' should be as staunchly and proudly conservative as he was. But the fact of the matter was that he did us a great favor and got a hold of this thing for his own ends, stuck his nose in where it didn't belong and started making calls and decisions . . . that although _I_ agree with them, are not practical considering the current rotten climate in the government and country."

The very important man looked at the important man with a cold hard stare—"and the fact that my former colleague was probably doing a three-way with the same overseas . . . folks that 'Crossword' was, plus whoever that mysterious foreign billionaire is that was seeking classified information?"

The important man made a disbelieving snort. "All of you 'politicians' have one of your many hands in someone else's candy bowl. The guy's only crime as far as I'm concerned was that his sugar daddies were foreigners. That's why I'll sleep good tonight with no problems with him being taken out."

"And if it hadn't been your prime team that was dealing with him?" the very important man demanded testily. "God! He personally ordered the termination of a couple of _teenagers_ who have done nothing be goo—"

The important man looked on the verge of getting mad. "And we'd probably be better off in the long run if that had gone down, and don't forget who it was who authorized _his_ termination immediately after."

A pale look came to the very important mans face, "don't remind me . . . I still can't believe that it was his voice I heard ordering that 'hit'."

"And," the important man added snappishly, "look what else this event has accomplished. Not only were two moles discovered and taken 'out', we made a mess of that stupid World Wide Web, which I still say ought to be outlawed and at the same time was able to hammer it for useful intelligence for the future, as well as getting the opportunity and the justification to find and whack some truly deserving 'whacks' world wide in the process. I think we cut back Global Justice a notch but I fear it won't be long before they're as overblown and self-important as they ever were."

The very important man eyed the other man narrowly. "And you're not overblown and self-important?"

The important man's eyes also narrowed, and his voice took on a tone of . . . decided frostiness. "I started in the field in the Second World War and worked the 'front lines' for over forty years. As the head of this . . . section, I've served four presidents. Any one of them could have me replaced but they haven't. I take a lot of pride in that. Someone has to do the real shitty work that has to be done and it might as well be someone like me who at least enjoys doing it and sees that it gets done the way it should be, not by pussyfooting around."

The very important man's eyes were just slits. "But none of those presidents really knew just what it is that you do. How extensive it is."

Now the important man gave the other a deadly smile. "Aahhh, the beauty of 'cutouts' and 'plausible deniability'. And it bugs you that not even you knows everything my . . . people do."

"I want to keep my job," the very important man admitted although he didn't look happy.

"Good thought," the important man grunted, his expression not giving an inch.

The very important man looked at the other for a minute in silence, then said, "and I expect that not even you knows about everything that your . . . people do?"

The deadly smile was back on the face of the important man. "More power to 'em," and the smile turned into a grin, "as long as they don't get caught or at least that their bodies can be identified, I really don't give a rats ass . . . as long as they're toeing the straight and narrow as far as loyalty to this country and its interests."

The two men's eyes locked . . . for a long moment. Then the very important man stood without further word, holding out and shaking the important mans hand. The very important man walked out, picking up his Secret Service bodyguards in the outer office and heading out the door—

All the while, seriously considering to himself wither to propose forcing the retirement of an important man who was seen by the rest of the world simply as a bureaucrat working for the Customs Dept, but who, in this day and age, was just too much of a dinosaur, too much of a potential political liability, to be allowed to wield so much power—

That same important man was again sitting at his desk, wondering uncomfortably about the line of conversation that had just occurred. The reason was, that while he truly thought that 'Redoubt' was blowing things all out of proportion, he hadn't stayed where he was by leaving _anything_ to chance. So he had eyes in Middleton Colorado watching the situation. He knew the potential of the Vaultaslof research. If that blue-faced whack was capable of anything truly dangerous, he would be notified. An Air Force base in Idaho had a hot F-15 Strike Eagle sitting on the apron 24/7. The crew could deliver the ordinance to Middleton in quick time, hitting wherever the whack was with a precision strike—

Not that a precision strike was necessary. Because no one but the important man, his cutout and the 'special' ground crew that had provided the piece of ordinance to the plane knew that it was in fact a small yield tactical nuke (special mod to resemble conventional ordinance)—

And with the Strike Eagle obliterated along with Middleton, it would be assumed that it was the whack himself that had set off his own device—

And while it was temping to do it anyway in order to ratchet up the operations against the other whacks and terrorist in general, his sister-in-laws daughter was going to school at the Science Institute in Middleton—

But the wondering of the important man's mind, was to secure his own plausible deniability in regards to the very important man who had just left—

And who now was a hapless victim of the number one fact of life in black ops communities, that he too, didn't have a clue in the world, just what his 'people' were doing without his knowledge . . . or approval.

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"Monique, I think—"

"I'm _not_ going dad!" came the forceful reply. Monique stood just outside of the door to Felix's room with her arms crossed and her most obstinate look on her face. "I haven't seen Felix in _weeks_ and now that I'm here, I'm not leaving him. For Gods sake, the doctor said that he could very well know that I'm here and that could help bring him back and—"

"Honey," Monique's mom said gently, understanding her daughters distress but trying to interject some common sense, "you haven't showered since you got out of the hall, you haven't eaten since lunch, you haven't slept in a decent bed and—"

"Mom!!!" Monique started, anger and hurt starting to flash in her eyes.

"And as awful as it sounds," her mom rode fiercely over her, "there is no way to know when Felix (she was _very_ careful not to say 'if') will wake up. And I'm sorry, you are not staying at his bedside until that happens."

Monique's eyes brimmed with tears and her lower lip trembled. The anger was growing stronger in her eyes—

And Kim could well understand it from her own recent experiences for she could also see the tremendous guilt and frustration in her best girlfriend that just maybe her parents couldn't quite yet—

"Mon," Kim started in a soft tone—

"Don't you start too—" Monique spat at her, unconsciously seeing Kim at that moment as a convenient outlet for some of that anger and frustration. "I'll bet that you're not going home tonight either are you? Are you!?! Like hell you are. You're gonna be right beside Ron until he comes back . . . from wherever he's gone." The last part of that statement was made in a more reserved tone, for Monique knew just exactly what it was that Kim was feeling about her own boyfriend.

And it was thoughts and memories of that goofy-faced, cute blond headed boyfriend, brought on by the young redheads conscious (as well as subconscious) grip on the ring on her hand (he was always with her through it).

And Kim needed that anchor badly. She still had to acquire a reasonable explanation for just what her girlfriend was doing out other than Monique's statement, "they just came in, told me to change clothes and kicked me out of the front door. I had to ask them to call my lawyer and my 'rents or I would have been stuck in the street with no idea as to what was going on". As it was, Kim had the feeling that Monique herself didn't have any real idea of what had actually happened. Her lawyer was only able to tell her that 'sudden new evidence' had appeared and that the DA had dropped all charges. There was however, no reasonable or rational explanation at the current time for Monique's rapid and apparently uncoordinated summary discharge from the facility. Her lawyer was still checking into it.

And as far as 'where Ron had gone'—

Kim could read her own mothers normally professional face well enough to guess that no one had a reasonable/rational explanation for that as of yet either. Further tests were being done but preliminary findings were that Ron's body had undergone a drastic drop in all levels of its metabolic activity, again as if something had drained the very life out of him . . .

. . and now that her initial shock was over and her brain was starting to work again, Kim was starting to put two and two together—

And gotten an answer that she could just maybe understand, although she really didn't understand . . . or like one bit because of what maybe she thought might have really happened—

Even if she still couldn't understand . . . or really believe what it was that Ron might have done—

But if Ron died from what she _thought_ he had done . . .

. . . he was sssooooooooooo dead!

But Kim shook that all out of her head. Right now she had to deal with her very upset best girlfriend—

"Mon," Kim started again, trying her best to look humble and non-aggressive, "I agree with you . . . really," she said as her friend looked at her with intense skepticism, "but your 'rents have another point," and that was to lessen some of the glare that she was getting from Monique's folks, "and that is that you're not doing yourself any good, or Felix either, if you pass out while watching him because you're not taking care of yourself."

"Ha!" Monique snapped back at Kim as if catching her in a lie, "and just how many times have you had to be physically dragged away from Ron in the last couple of years? You two have always given new meaning to the phrase 'locked at the hip' and it was never more visible when one of you was hurt."

Kim reluctantly settled herself in for a long battle.

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Doctor Director sat at the control console inside the 3C vehicle, which had been placed almost a mile from the actual site. For the past hour, she had been monitoring the progress involved in inserting her agents into the perimeter and pulling the FBI people out with as little fuss or commotion as could be managed. Satellite and recon probe images of the target, much more sophisticated that that available to the FBI, had shown a single 'individual' inside of the warehouse, apparently sitting in close proximity to several large pieces of machinery of unknown origin or type.

Additional scans had shown a multitude of 'passive' sensors operating both around and inside the warehouse, obviously surveillance and detection equipment, obviously again, eyes for whatever defensive system the place possessed.

Doctor Directors eye narrowed as the last icon changed and all Global Justice icons went green indicating 'ready'.

"Alright," she growled into her throat mike, even as that throat tightened and went bone dry, "Will, you are 'go' to start your probes. But _remember_," and there was a carefully hidden 'snarl' in her tone, "you are _leading_ this assault. That means no charging in ahead of all of _your_ people unless you're contemplating suicide, which is what it is anyway if you survive and I get my hands on you afterwards."

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Monique, as the result of long, hard arguing on everybody's part, had been reduced to a forlorn, huddled, dispirited figure that sat in the chair outside of Felix's room with her head down and her arms crossed, refusing to respond to anything.

Kim's insides where tied up even worse than anything at this point for she feared that Monique's parents where ready to have her either physically removed or sedated at this point. The evening doctor, having come along and entered the debate hadn't helped either for he was apparently one of those who believed that all the waiting for someone should be done somewhere other than the hospital (and hence, out of his way).

Kim then almost jumped, for someone was standing directly beside her and Kim had had no prior sense of her approaching . . . which, as her insides calmed down, was not unusual considering who it was.

"Sorry dear," the newcomer said gently patting Kim on the arm, "I should have said something so I didn't startle you."

The newcomers voice was enough to break into Monique's gloom and her head snapped up to see—

Kim's Nana gave the downhearted girl a warm supportive smile. She was wearing her usual day clothes, which consisted of a long, simple dress with a large fancy collar made out of ornate but delicate looking lace, but worn over it was what looked like an ancient disreputable leather jacket—

Monique looked to Kim in surprise. Kim just smiled, "Nana got here a day or so ago." The granddaughter looked sidelong at her Nana with a loving little smile, "she's been helping take care of things while so much has been messed up."

Nana smiled just a little bit crookedly, saying cryptically, "more than you know dear, more than you know. But now—" and Nana stepped out and took Monique gently by one arm, standing her up, "lets you and I go off and have a little talk shall we? I think that we can somehow make everything right for everybody."

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Will Du fumed at the restrictions that had been placed on him. So what if they were doing this op out in front of just about every other enforcement organization on Earth. That in and of itself should be enough for him to waltz in and just take Drakken into custody, to show all those others just how good he . . . and behind him, Global Justice was.

He sighed again, wishing they could just get on with it; he had other missions waiting for him. Some he considered to be much more exotic and therefore worthy of his talents than this straightforward taking of an almost empty industrial warehouse right in the same city as headquarters.

"Am at corner bravo," one of _his_ agents reported to him through his earbug. "Am ready to attain the roof."

Du just double-clicked his approval. At least this part pleased him. This was the largest group he had ever _led_, preferring to be the dynamic, dashing lone wolf (that he was) the majority of his time.

"Thirteen is down" now an agitated voice snapped into his ear. "The edge of the roof is apparently wired hot! I need an emergency extraction here! I have an agent in full arrest from a massive electrical shock!"

Du's eyes shot wide . . . then slowly narrowed to slits. Maybe this op was going to be a little more tasking of his talents than he thought—

And that part pleased him as well.

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The Dark Figure stirred as a buzzer sounded, and its eyes opened and looked across the room to the control panel there. After a moment, the Dark Figure allowed the sudden tenseness to slid away. His true targets would never have set off that particular alarm. So it had to be other interlopers—

And he was confident in the systems that he had had his lackeys install here directly from his specifications. He had learned from too many past failures . . . all others would fall to his defenses. Only the ones who mattered would be able to penetrate them—

But now, he was aware that the time might not be far off.

One hand moved over and touched one of three buttons on the table next to him.

On the large, complicated looking machine filling the room before him, lights and glows came into being as it went into warm-up/standby mode.

Again the Dark Figure settled back into waiting.

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'Redoubt' was angry and getting angrier. "What do you mean that that part has not been rescinded?" She listened to the ultra secure hard line a moment, then spat back, "look, even though I _don't_ want to use them in this op, if everything goes down the tubes, I might have no choice but to call them in as a last resort." Another short listening pause, then, "I ordered all parts of that op rescinded. Wha—" and she cut herself off as a reply came into her ear. Then with a visible rise in her frustration level, "what do you mean that I don't have the authority to cut that part off? What?!?! You're telling me because they had a Code Delta Echo authority that I _can't_ rescind that part of the operation?" 'Redoubt' stewed for a moment then snarled, "I want to talk directly to 'Olympus', Code Phoenix authority."

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Kim knew as she headed back through the halls of the hospital that she had been arguing with Monique from a position of weakness. And that was the cause of another problem at the moment, for while Monique was right and she had no intention of leaving Ron, she was also past the brink of exhaustion, both mentally and physically. And she had also failed to follow her mom's advice and get anything to eat so her last meal had been the rushed sandwich that she had bought at lunch at school.

Now, it was far too late to do anything about it for the hospital cafeteria had closed at ten. She couldn't just go back to Ron's room as is. If her mom was still there, the question would be asked (for that matter, it would be asked if Mrs. Stoppable was still there as well) and she couldn't lie about it. Kim didn't have much left in the way of money but she guessed that her only option was the mini-mart across the street.

Kim had major second thoughts as soon as she stepped outside due to the cold. And she had nothing warmer than the top and pants she was wearing for her morning-walking-to-school jacket was where she had left it at first break, in her locker back at school.

She gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering and doggedly started her way across the parking lot, her own arms wrapped tightly around her body.

"Hey Kim!"

Kim's head snapped around, not believing that she had just heard _that_ voice calling her here in a dark hospital parking lot at this time of night.

But her ears weren't fooling her for she saw, several rows away, Josh Mankey standing in the open side door of his van waving at her to come over.

Kim wrestled with her feelings for several moments as Josh continued to urge her to come with gestures, the fact that a glance at how far away the mini-mart was versus just how hard she had to clamp her jaw to keep her teeth still—

Josh as it turned out, wasn't alone either. Marcella was also there with her boyfriend as was Hope and Liz—

Tara was absent . . . and Kim wasn't sure if she was worried . . . or relieved about that.

Kim again hesitated when she saw who all was there and she realized the probable reason behind it. But Josh just looked at her in his own gentle understanding way—

Kim for just a flashed moment, remember the passion of their relationship . . . as well as the memory of their realization that that was all that they had had, other than a cordial friendship, certainly nothing even close to the multiple and deep levels that she had with Ron—

But Josh was still . . . Josh, and Kim had to admit now from the bastion of her firm relationship with her love Ron Stoppable, that Josh was still her friend.

And Kim had learned very firmly, very recently, one didn't deny friends.

So she climbed into the idling van, Josh pulling the door closed. "Now turn the heater back up," Hope demanded as it sounded like she was shivering.

Kim sat down on the floor behind the passenger seat, looking at those about her, wondering what tact to take.

But Josh took that option away by asking softly, "how's Ron?"

Kim's head fell until she was looking into her own lap. "Not good," she replied sadly. "They think they've figured out what happened, but they don't know why it happened (_although I think _I_ have_) and they don't have any idea how to fix it." Kim then _forced_ her head back up, up enough to meet Josh's eyes from where he sat in the rotated drivers seat. "How's Tara," she made herself ask, omitting the rest of what she wanted to say 'is she in with Bonnie?'

Josh made an unhappy shrug. "Pretty messed up," he admitted softly. "Seems like she's blaming herself for whatever happened to Ron _and_ Bonnie and she's pretty well closed everybody and everything else out."

"Kim . . . " Liz started, the . . . hesitation and . . . it could only be fear . . . and Kim could tell that it was fear of _her_ that was making Liz . . . and she suspected what her fellow cheerleader was going to say . . . and Kim wanted to stop it before it was said . . . and she knew that she didn't have the right.

"Kim—" Liz started again, having to lick her lips before going on, "you need desperately to talk to Tara. You need to tell her that you don't blame her for whatever it is that happened to Ron . . . and . . . " and again Liz hesitated, having to force herself to drop the other shoe, " . . . and you have to tell Tara that you don't blame her for the fact that Bonnie didn't die and that whatever Tara asked your boyfriend to do, whatever it was that hurt Ron and yet saved Bonnie—"

Liz had to break off when Kim almost bodily turned herself into the van door as a sign of rejection—

But as much as she wanted to . . . Kim could not reject what was being said . . . and what it in fact, meant.

The Middleton Mad Dog cheerleaders had stood by her during her darkest days. Upon her return to school, Kim had heard about how they had tracked down, corralled and confronted with Monique's help, Sherrie Winer over the 'death' of Rufus. Kim remembered the enthusiasm and support even as she tired to push it away, from the cheerleaders trying to get her to participate in the cheer camp. Kim remembered the camp itself and the silent, unwavering support of these same girls—

And Kim remembered . . . standing head and shoulders above all the other girls in her fierce determination to strike down the barriers that Kim had thrown up around herself and the bravery and tenacity, the fact that 'no' wouldn't be accepted, was Tara . . .

And now Tara needed her just as bad . . .

And a big part of it would be reconciling herself with Tara over Bonnie—

Kim managed a shuddering breath as all the emotions threatened to overwhelm her exhausted self. But . . . there was only one thing she could do . . . and true to herself, it was also the right thing to do . . .

Kim forced herself to turn back to the others inside of Josh's van. Kim wiped angrily at her wet eyes and managed a, "sorry," that was half apology and half an admission of just how angry with herself over her reaction she was.

"S'okay," Josh said softly.

Kim took a couple of deep breaths to get herself back under control before opening her eyes and looking at those before her, "tell me where Tara is. I'll go talk to her just as soon as I go get something to eat. I'm about to collapse and that is where I was going, to get something from the mini-mart (making a gesture with one hand) when you called me over here."

"And you freeze to death in the process," Josh chuckled right before he turned his seat around and put the idling van into gear. "Let's go get something at Cow and Chow, they're open until midnight."


	34. Spring of Emotions Well of Meditations

Kim walked back into Middleton Hospital just after midnight, moving like she was dead to the world, feeling dazed and confused far beyond what her exhaustion should account for. Against her 'will' Josh and his group had gently forced her to go into Cow and Chow and have a sit-down meal—

Of course they had had what was probably a spontaneous motive . . . which also would normally be considered an ulterior motive as well, and they put it on her without any warning or preparation . . . simply by, when they were all seated, Marcella putting a gentle hand on Kim's arm and saying, "I think there's something you need to see." And with that, Marcella's boyfriend passed over his cellphone which was in video playback mode—

All Kim saw was the back of a beaten and bloody Bonnie and it occasionally dipped down to show a prostate and bloody Carla . . .

But it was the sound recording—

'That made me try to destroy another girl who, while she's had her moments of cattiness and occasional bitchdom as well, has otherwise done nothing but brought all of us safety and well-being, has set an example for others to follow, and has really tried her best to just be another 'normal girl' despite all her unique talents.'

'I now realize just how wrong I was, and I take full _responsibility_ for what I did, not only to myself, but for all the others I've bullied, persecuted, found to be 'too low' on the God DAMNED food chain to be of notice'

'I take full responsibility for the ones I've blackmailed and betrayed for my own, selfish, broken-ego ends.'

'Right now before God and the rest of the world I say that while I was responsible for so much . . . it was _you_ Carla who came up with half the ideas to break and destroy Kim Possible.'

'YOU, working with some unknown enemy and agent who had their own score against Possible, gathering the information that those people, whoever they were, used in their own campaign against Kim.'

'You and you alone, not ME, who made the suggestion, and used _me_ as your pawn, to arrange the entrance of the gangs . . . and to set up the events that led to Ron Stoppable being jumped and shot and almost _killed_ in the first gang shooting Middleton has ever know!'

'You BOASTED about planning to do something to him Ethome. And it had something to do with the Space Center! I KNOW you're responsible for whatever happened to Felix!'

. . . . . . and . . . . . .

'And it's my shame and my damnation for what I didn't do. And DAMN you all! For I'll at least admit it now before everybody that I failed her. But I did it because I was scared to stand up for her in front of you all. Well, now I'm doing more than standing up for her. I want ALL of you to know, that Bonnie is my friend. She's made her mistakes and hurt a lot of people but she's admitting it, trying to make it right, trying to fix everything she's done. AND YOU BETTER ALL ACCEPT THAT! Because she's coming back, and I'll be right at her side—'

And that last part of course was when Tara, in an incredible display of bravery, had jumped in front of Bonnie when Carla had tried to shoot—

Kim felt . . . small . . . small and humbled.

All the more so because her anger, her hatred, her rage against Bonnie had not gone away . . . now Kim just felt terribly guilty about it.

And she was feeling guilty about so many things right now . . .

She would have to do something about that—

Kim didn't thing that Tara would still be at the center—and even if she was, Kim was not sure that it would be a good idea to try and talk to Tara when she herself was both emotionally exhausted and her emotions were being pulled in so many directions.

But the first thing that Kim would do would be to try and reach an understanding with Tara—

Even though she was nowhere near ready to even consider an understanding with or about Bonnie.

So Kim gave a moments thought as to where she should look to see if Tara was still at the hospital even as she headed back toward Ron's room.

Because first and foremost, Ron demanded all her attention.

Kim silently pushed the door to Ron's room open—

And her free hand came up in front of her mouth in sudden shock and surprise—

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At a sprawling, multi-million dollar home in a rich Long Island suburb, a charismatic/boyishly faced man, who was sitting in an overstuffed chair reading a classic work, looked up when he heard the porch door close. It was followed at various moments by soft bumps and thumps as it sounded as if items where being discarded or put down—

Another set of moments passed by, before a stunning looking dark-haired woman came into the room, one hand working at all that hair, running her fingers through it as if untangling it after it was trapped in a confining space for an extended period of time. Her black turtleneck and jeans looked to be damp at the collar and cuffs as if an outer garment had been unable to totally seal out the outside elements.

Simple nods to each other conveyed the needed information, that separate but related tasks had been taken care of successfully.

But the man then cleared his throat and said in a half perturbed, half amused tone, "'Redoubt' is screaming bloody murder about the threatened hit on 'Fearless Red' and 'Scared Sidekick'. She going all the way to the top to try to get it rescinded."

The woman stepped over to the bar and started to pour herself a drink, giving the man a sly, sidelong glance that invited him to go on.

"'T-Rex' is managing to keep things blocked through interdepartmental B/S but that wont last forever. Once the Top-Tier finds out, that order, and maybe us (although he said it with a smile that belied his concern) just might be toast."

The woman chuckled and, with her drink full, turned and advanced on him, her whole body moving in a seductive manner. But it was with an evil smile and a frosty tone that she said, as she 'poured' herself down onto his lap, "I think a little payback to 'Head Knife' is in order. Let her daughter sweat a little longer under the 'gun'."

He gave her an evil chuckle back even as their eyes met . . . and their lips stated to come together—

But they stopped just short of touching—

And she breathed huskily, "you tell me about yours, I'll tell you about mine—"

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Doctor Director pursed her lips together until they were a thin white line. Five more of her agents had been injured in 'traps' and an additional two more had been taken out attempting to rescue those who had gone down.

She had known that she and her people were not facing Drakken as they had known him, but what her people had encountered had been night and day over what she thought they would have to handle. She took comfort that if the FBI had been the ones going in, the count would have been much, much higher as her people were defeating three traps out of four—

But still, at the current cost, this could not go on all night.

So she did two things. She ordered a tactical withdrawal (over the protest of Du), and made a Code Delta request directly to 'Pinnacle' requesting some specific information.

Now she was praying that that request was honored—

And at the same time, calling in additional people to be grist for the mill if her request wasn't honored . . . and hating herself as she did so.

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Tears streaked down Kim's face as she sat on the cold, hard floor of Ron's hospital room, slowly rocking back and forth.

And she was reveling that they were, for once in far too many times lately, tears of joy as she dearly held, and was held by—

Kim had of course, immediately recognize him simply by the shape and position of the darker spot on Ron's chest, even if in the dark room where she really couldn't see—

But she didn't have to because as was said, she instantly knew who it was—

"Rufus?" she had breathed in disbelief—

And Kim had been rewarded by the 'dark spot' immediately jerking up . . . and then leaping out at her, little arms clutching her neck for dear life—

Kim had dropped to a sitting position on the floor and the two of them had (figuratively for Rufus of course) crushed themselves to each other, Kim's little sobs of joy countering Rufus's even smaller little burbles . . .

Finally, the intensity of the moment passed, and Rufus anchored himself to one of her shoulders as she gingerly worked at getting back onto her feet. She looked about Ron's room and realized that his folks must have gone home. Her head and eyes cranked sharply around to her shoulder, "when did you get here? Who brought you? Was Ron right, were you with Global Justice all this time?"

Rufus nodded with an "uh huh," at the last. He then pointed at Ron in the bed as said, "your Nana."

Kim sucked in a sharp breath. Was that what her Nana had meant when she had made that cryptic comment before helping Monique? Kim knew that her mom and her Nana had been having many many closed door talks since her arrival in the early hours of the morning days prior (for which Kim was eternally grateful for another reason. Because Nana's arrival had allowed her parents to get back together), that her Nana had apparently be doing some information gathering from her Florida residence on her own and that Nana had been using the low-security phone line that her father had had installed in the house for the Space Center (and to which both Wade and the Tweebs had done considerable upgrades to making it in reality a 'secure' line).

Now Kim guessed that Nana had been in person to Global Justice (wearing that dilapidated World War 2 'leather' jacket that was her trademark along with any kind of outfit that had 'lace' on it) and had gotten Rufus back, bringing him to Ron afterwards. Kim blinked. But that would mean that Shego would have been left alone at home because her mom would have been at the Space Center—

All the abrupt twisting thoughts gave Kim a sudden headache, and despite the joy it was bringing to her, Rufus's sudden return had drawn even more out of her. She knew that she was hitting flat into the wall and there was still so much that she should do, things she _had_ to do.

But Rufus had immediately sized things up. He scurried around onto Kim's chest, touched the side of her face with one hand while pointing off to the side with the other, his most forceful look on _his_ face and a most pointed, "sit!"

Kim looked in the direction of the mole rats finger, and saw that someone had set up between Ron's bed and the wall, a reclining chair with blankets and pillows already waiting.

Kim, in distress, started to wave it away with her hands even as she _longed_, "no, I can't really. I have too many things I still have to—"

Then Rufus was right up in her face, his beady little eyes visible locking into hers even in the dark room.

"Love you," he said curtly. One hand then pointed sharply at Ron, "he love you." Rufus's paws then gently held her cheeks, "need rest, make self sick. Need be ready, mission."

Kim's eyes went wide. "Mission? What mission?"

Rufus vehemently shook his head. "Tomorrow. Sleep now. Help you both!" The little mole rat then jumped down and started to push against Kim's ankles—

Kim was forced despite herself to give a little, exhausted joyous laugh, for it reminded her of how Rufus had pushed her and Ron together after their awkweird entrance to the prom. With that thought in mind, she allowed Rufus to push her around the bed, turn her and, scampering up her front to do so, force her down into the chair.

Kim had to laugh again for she had to rise slightly to get the blanket and pillow out from under her—

But before she could do anything further, Rufus was a whirlwind of activity, the pillow was behind her head, the blanket was coving her, her shoes were off—

And with a final flourish, Rufus grabbed her hand that was closest to Ron's bed—

And drug it over, laying her hand in Ron's where it lay uncovered beside him.

"Oh Rufus," she breathed at him even as she felt sleep start to take her. The little mole rat came over and again gave her head a hug. But just as he started to pull back away—

"Rufus," Kim said softly and the mole rat turned back to her, little face lost in the darkness of the corner.

"You've been gone," Kim whispered even as she drifted off. "But . . . while you were gone . . . I can _say_ it Rufus. I can _say the words. _I can say that I love Ron. I love Ron more than I love anything else in this world," and then her free hand came up to caress the head of the little figure on her chest, "and I love you too Rufus. And I, he, we, missed you so much."

Kim saw the flash of white from Rufus's front teeth as he gave her a big grin. Then, while things were going black, Kim felt just the littlest 'smack' on the front of her nose as Rufus kissed her.

And she knew, despite everything that was going wrong at this time, that she was going to have good dreams.

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Will Du was not having good dreams; things were more like a nightmare—

Once again in how many times, he dreamed that he should be running Global Justice. He would build the organization up to the point where criminals of all types would simply stop their activities rather than face a chance of encountering the premiere enforcement arm of the world. He would leave all the governmental agencies behind in the dust, using technology that would render those same agencies unnecessary, making GJ the sole, necessary arm to enforce law and order world wide—

And those same items of technology would eclipse the need for firearms and other offensive weapons, other than the incomparable physical skills of the agents themselves. And once that was done, Global Justice could truly become what Du envisioned it to be at its fullest potential, able to actually enforce the international law and bring whole governments to task for the crimes that they committed in the name of some 'national cause or interest'. Narcotics traffic, human trafficking, the rape of the environment, 'shows of force' to intimidate neighbors, war over ideologies and resources that should have been worked out at a diplomatic table, all could be brought to a crushing halt by a world enforcement arm with the _will_ to do so—

And Du thought he was just the Will to do it.

But here he was, he . . . who was acknowledged as the top agent in Global Justice, restrained and hindered by superiors who were to timid to take the bull by the horns and just _do it_!

Tactical withdrawal indeed. As far as he was concerned, all it did was clear the field so that he could do what he should have been allowed to do in the first place. He had turned his Comm off so that he couldn't be recalled or ordered back—

Of course, the fact that many of _his_ people had been the victims of traps that he would also not have been aware were present did not enter into his mind. Somehow his brain had managed to process that information in its usual (lets not say egotistical) way and come up with a rational that allowed him to think that he _would_ have been able to defeat or avoid those same traps if he had been left all his own.

So, Will Du, blazed a trail through the various traps (never mind the fact that over a dozen agents had already gone the same way and tripped or disarmed whatever had been waiting for them), managing to get to the warehouse, up the side of the building, into a window leading into the office area, up into the false ceiling, through it into a cable shaft that ran up into the roof area and through an A/C duct in the rafters to an area adjacent to the 'main section' where the probes indicated the 'individual' was placed.

All of Du's 'hard work' was rewarded with a glimpse of the 'individual' through a sprung seam in the air duct he was using to make his way across the 'main section'. It was totally dark inside of the warehouse which Du thought was unusual and the only light was from the skylight, and the glows of the strange machine that the 'individual' was in front of. The figure was also sitting, as if patiently waiting and Du also found that unusual for neither fact seemed compatible with Drakken's profile.

Oh, Du had read the summation of what the brain shrinkers thought might be going on with this power hungry pansy. But Du had discounted all of that, his opinion was that the whole 'mad whack' thing on the part of Drakken was so if he got caught, he could go back to the funny farm instead of prison and therefore be in position to escape as easily as he did the last time. One of Du's personal missions in this instance was to sublimely 'interrogate' Drakken when he confronted him shortly and trick him into admitting this fact (all of which would be on tape of course) so that he could be sent back to a proper facility.

A sudden 'whirring' noise like that of a small motor snapped Du out of his musings. His head came up and he looked down the duct, unable to see anything in the darkness ahead—

And Du threw himself to the side of the duct as the small laser mounted at the junction ahead opened fire on him. Quick, repeated shots snapped out at him, tracking Du back and forth across the width of the duct as he violently threw himself from one side to the other trying to avoid the fire—

Which was of course striking the duct right about the joint where it had been tweaked enough for Du to look through.

With the tortured screeching of tearing metal, that section of the duct gave way and Du tumbled out into the dark space of the 'main section' and plummeted toward the floor—

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"Will Du," snapped Doctor Director into her throat mike, trying to maintain some form of professional demeanor. "Du, come in NOW! You are not—"

"Registering energy weapon use inside of the structure," one of her techs suddenly called out. Doctor Directors eye snapped to the appropriate screen, cursing internally all the while—

If that idiot Du was lucky, the trap would kill him, because if it didn't, she would!

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The Dark Man heard the sensor activate, heard the trap spring, didn't flinch when the bottom of the vent across the space gave way and something fell out of it—

The device against the wall behind him automatically activated, searching out, tracking and locking on to the falling object. It activated—

The scanning computer had instantly analyzed the target and set the appropriate setting for the device. As a 'universal' magnet, it attained the frequency and pulse to literally 'grab hold of' the trace elements of metal in the human body . . . it took a tremendous amount of power to do so, enough to dim all the lights for blocks around—

Will Du felt _something_ seize him and suddenly he was flying sideways instead of falling down. But before he could reorient himself, he _slammed_ into something—only his body armor saving him from the impact.

Du groggily opened his eyes and tried to focus. He could tell that he was suspended above the floor, and that the figure was still seated, now in front of him . . .

The Dark Figure glanced back over his shoulder. Something deep inside registered just a hint of recognition as to who it was that the magnet had caught, but the ruling mind instantly discarded the helpless form of Will Du as not one of the two it sought. The Dark Figure faced front again, its other hand going to a small control panel build into the arm of the chair the figure sat in—

The universal magnet suddenly swerved about and snapped up . . . the minute it was aligned with the nearest roof skylight, the charge reversed—

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"Doppler shows," another tech called a moment later, "that something has just been launched out of the top of the target building."

"Airborne object displays Agent Du's beacon!" a third one called.

Doctor Director dropped her face into both of her hands. She wanted to scream . . . she was forced to wait.

After what seemed like hours, "Agent Du landed in a copse of trees at the edge of the business park. He's been recovered but is in serious condition, requesting that he be air-evaced to the nearest major medical facility.

"Granted!" Doctor Director snapped, then she forced herself to take a long, slow, deep breath. She pulled her head up out of her hands, now dropping his chin onto her fists. She forced another long, slow breath, then snapped, "get me 'Redoubt'!"

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The small figure who was once again curled up on the chest of his 'person' came awake with a start. His head came up, and as he was already facing his 'other' person, who was still sleeping soundly in her recliner next to the bed, he realized that it wasn't her that had woken him up. It looked in fact as if she hadn't moved, and a warm spot lit in the little guy when he noticed that the hands of his two people were still together on the edge of the bed.

Then what—

The little guy looked over his shoulder . . . and instantly bounded to his feet, spinning around—

And falling into a deep bow of respect—

The colors of the old mans dress was not visible in the darkness, but there was no mistaking the beard, mustache, the stance and aura of wisdom and power. The old man deeply returned the little guys bow . . . and then stood as if waiting.

The little guy cocked his head in wonder, then his eyes, so much better attuned to the darkness than a human's saw a figure, small, slender, all in the black garb of ninja, slide up to the side of the old man. The two of them exchanged bows of greeting as well, and then the little guy settled into a pose of meditation . . . and waited. He was not privy to the conversation but he knew that it wasn't his place to be. He was content to wait whatever event was about to happen.

The two that stood before the bed of Ron Stoppable did not converse with words. However, the one in ninja black, while adept in many things, was still a tyro in many others. So the Old Man carried the conversation in a two-way link of his power and control.

"_They have both done well,"_ the old man said.

"_But this test of life has deeply affected them, physically, emotionally, spiritually,"_ advised the ninja_. "It has stressed then in ways they have yet to guess and they have emerged stronger than ever."_ And the ninja cast its eyes at the Old Man. _"So why do you keep saying that there is no guarantee—"_

"_There is never a guarantee in life,"_ the old man said gently. _"They may well both die today, or tomorrow or fifty years from now."_

"_But,"_ the ninja said, sounding uncertain_, "the prophecy's, the traits of the scrolls of their destiny. I know that nothing is certain, but so much seems to portend in those sources there that seems—"_

"_That my child,"_ the old man said solemnly, but with a hint of pride in his tone, _"is because of the strength and dedication of this pair in all things. It encompasses all that they are, all that they will be, both singly and as the pair that they already are and the dynamic force that they will become."_

There was a long pause of uncertainty . . . before the ninja ventured with, _"there are those . . . that might disagree with you."_

With a sudden look of disapproval on his face, the old man turned to the ninja_. "And how would you know this? How have you become privy to the debates of The Few?"_

The ninja turned into the old man and gave a deep bow of subservience_. "Forgive me Master, but it is not of my making. I have been . . . approached by several members of The Few who conveyed to me their . . . dismay with what has been happening. They sought out my opinion . . . I thought that you were aware of this or I would not have been accommodating of them."_

The Old Man snorted_. "I should have been aware. The fact that I was not is an indication of just how carefully they tread under the guise of their righteousness."_ Her then shot the ninja and intense look. _Are you aware of anything else The Few have done without my knowledge?_

The ninja gave an uncomfortable display of open hands. _I do not _know_ of anything . . . but the feelings I perceived was that there were other thoughts behind their eyes._

There was a long uncomfortable moment between the two of them as the Old Man processed this information. Then finally, he gave the ninja a kind, _"yours is not the fault and no blame or shame may be placed on you. They are elders, they are members of The Few, so in all cases you had to respond to them . . . "_

There was another long moment, with feelings of awkwardness coming from the young ninja before, _". . . do you not wish to know what it was that I said to those who asked?"_

Again the Old Man snorted, but this time there was a gentle, humorous tone to it. _"It would do me no good my child, for whatever you may tell me now, it will not be what you told to them."_

The ninja sucked in a breath as if pieced by an arrow. She started to reply with angry tones when the Old Man held up a hand to forestall her—

"_I by no means convey that you were untruthful to them. I am only saying that you would have unconsciously been very careful with your control in those moments, while you would be fully open with me. Under such circumstances, there is no way that you could reproduce the moment."_

The ninja's head dropped as if in shame. There was no further attempt to speak. The Old Man looked back to the three figures before them . . . and after a moment, _"plus, you have already made to me, your feelings in this matter well known in ways both direct and obscure. In all things, I trust the 'real' of you more than you might even trust your own mind . . . and heart . . . especially the effects of your heart in this instance."_

"_I have accepted their destiny to be together,"_ the ninja said in a tone with multiple levels.

"_Not that there were not attempts by you to alter that destiny on several occasions, or that your heart would soar if that alteration had occurred,"_ the Old Man pointed out with the utmost gentleness.

The reply was an almost imperceptible nod.

"_And,"_ the Old Man continued, _"was it not the implied desire of those of The Few who approached you, that you might attempt to subvert the destiny of—"_

"_They are angry,"_ the ninja 'breathed' in a barely heard thought. _"They can not fathom, believe or accept the . . . using the derogatory slang term, that a 'round eye' could possibly be the one of whom the prophecies speak in regards to the Blade . . . and to make matters worse, that another 'round eye' is his mate and will be the Consort to the Blade Master. They speak even if they do not use the words that the first may be tolerated if the second is eliminated and—"_

"_Your feelings in this matter,"_ the Old Man continued, still in the same gentle tone, _"your feelings for the Master of the Blade, your family and lineage, your inane skills and your faith in the Greater World. They press you in all this?"_

There was another long moment . . . then the ninja replied with great anxiety, _"not with words."_

The Old Man, still looking at the three on/next to the bed before him simply nodded. Then, with a firm, commanding tone, _"and _your_ feelings on this?"_

To such a direct command, the ninja could not refuse . . . but it was hard. _"I—I—I honestly do not know my feelings for Stoppable san to the degree that you ask me. The potential is there . . . I want to love him. But can I say, as I am being as honest with myself as the cold snow-covered morning is to the Sun at dawn, that I do not know if such a love could have come to be if the conditions had allowed it." _The ninja choked and had to stop . . .

"_We never,"_ came the whispered thought, _"had a chance to allow a seed to be planted let alone flourish and grow. Only a potential never realized."_ The ninja looked at the hand-holding couple before her. _"They possess twelve years of togetherness with a bond tighter than that of the metal of the Blade itself. A destiny realized! What hope would I have had against that? They were friends . . . they were mates . . . all they were lacking was that they were not lovers . . . and now they are. Even if I had managed to become a lover to Stoppable san, would it have lasted . . . one side of the triangle against the two, deeper sides possessed by his friend/mate?"_ There was a slow, resigned shake of the ninja's head. _"I think not."_

Again the Old Man nodded. _"And you accept this? You will find peace with it and allow it to become the joyous jewel of melancholy memory that it will be?"_

There was no reply. But there was an 'impression' that came to the Old Man that the ninja was in fact, doing just that . . .

He was satisfied. _"If any of The Few, press you further—"_

"_Please Master, I see, I know, I understand. They will not receive any satisfaction from me."_

Another nod, _"only take care that you do not encounter their wrath, directly or otherwise by being too blunt with them."_

There was another long moment, then a heartfelt, _"thank you for caring Great-great Uncle."_

His acknowledgement was unsaid, but not unfelt.

Then the Old Man again nodded in the direction of the figures on the bed. _"I know what The Few fear, and I understand their fear. That these _ameko_ will subvert the purity of the ancient ways and tradition. And as you say, they especially fear that a _kimpatsu haka-jin _is to be the Master of the Blade and what they consider to be a _yariman_ because she, an _otoko onna_ is his friend/mate/lover."_ For just a moment, a look of disappointment/dismay came over the Old Man's face as he mentally sighed, _"and she does not help by refusing to accept or at least acknowledge the mystic and spiritual aspects of Greater World as of yet."_

The ninja gave the Old Man a sidelong glance. _"But you said that Possible san has made progress—"_

"_She has made great progress in discovering the secret doors within herself that will open wide and make her a more complete person. She has made realizations of things that she had never considered toward the world, friends, family . . . and her mate of destiny that will both deepen her and broaden her."_ The Old Man then sighed with a, _"but she remains closed to the Greater World."_

"_But she has felt, experienced and now seen Stoppable sans abilities in at least one aspect of the Greater World. Surely she would not—"_

"_As young Ron Stoppable is hardly aware of exactly what it is that he is doing, would you expect Kim Possible to really accept and believe that he has such power?"_ The Old Man gave an affectionate snort as he looked at the blond haired boy in the bed. _"Such great power and potential still harnessed by innocence and lack of dedicated discipline. Yes, he has, as he has always, been able to do what is necessary when a moment of crisis is at hand but he does not carry it over into more routine matters. Considering the fact that he has now proved himself as being able to go beyond necessity and preservation when it is called to him. But the rest of the time—"_

"_He would not be Stoppable san if he was not the way he is. You yourself told me that he would not have the control of the Blade that he does if he was anything other than, I think the American word is . . . slacker? And what of what he has managed due to this trial."_ The ninja was actually making motions with its hands due to its agitation. _"Not only has Stoppable san demonstrated his worthiness by showing mercy in giving his essence to one who by all accounts his enemy, he was able to overcome his hatred of that same person earlier and dispense justice and more mercy to that same person. He—"_

"_Your point is well taken,"_ the Old Man thought quietly. _"And I have nothing to say against what you so passionately speak, but—"_ and at this point the Old Man gave an affectionate nod toward the male figure before the, _"to address your first point; because all of him is 'loose', his mind is resilient, his soul can rebound, it is unquestionable that those factors of his personality give him the ability to bond with the Blade as no one has for centuries because the Blade does not have to fight for its own identity, fight to keep from being totally owned and possessed by its Master. It is allowed to keep and maintain its own self and sense."_ Now was suspiciously sounded like a chuckle, _"but as to your second point, would it not be an unhappy event for a weary teacher to have a student who is at least a little more dedicated to his task."_

"_But—"_ the ninja started.

"_Yes, yes,"_ the Old Man waved the thought away, _"young Ron Stoppable does not even realize that he is on the path to being the Master of the Lotus Blade . . . and what that means for our People and the Greater World—"_

"_And against the wishes of The Few—"_ the ninja finished with a cold voice.

And now it was the Old Man's turn to give the ninja a sidelong view_. "And no protest over the fact that young Stoppable might be forced along a path to a life that he neither wants nor desires?"_

The ninja's head dipped a little . . . and it was a long moment before, _"it is not my place to say. Although . . . I will admit that I fear that . . . and can not truly believe that you would force him along that path against his—?"_

A sad little smile came to the Old Man's lips. _"You know better than that child as your own words reveal, yet you do not trust them or the certainty inside you from which they spring. I believe that your encounters with the other elders of The Few have given you that uncertainty."_ The Old Man took a firm, forceful stance and proclaimed, _"I will force no one into a life they do not want or deserve. But I will help and guide them if they walk that path be it in blindness or open eyed."_

"_But,"_ the ninja replied with a mental tone of subservience colored with uncertainty and questioning, _"everything I see and sense is that you are allowing Stoppable san to walk that path as if he was blind. When will he be told the truth of his destiny so that he may make a fair and proper decision for his own life . . . and the life of his mate . . . and the future of the Blade, the Greater World and the People?"_

The Old Man's little smile now turned just slightly unhappy, as if _he_ was being guided by forces outside of his control. _"When he asks me,"_ was the answer.

With an aggrieved tone to its mental voice, the ninja stated, _"The Laws could be changed."_

The Old Man's tone was firm but understanding. _"The Laws are ancient and just. They possess knowledge and purpose that we, mere mortals do not have. They are not to be changed or trifled with." _The Old Man took a deep, clearing breath. _"The Laws will do what is best and right for all concerned."_ The Old Man now focused his gaze on the bed, _"as must we do now."_

The two figures then again, this time in unison, bowed to the little figure that sat on Ron Stoppable. The little figure bowed back after regaining his feet. A moment again passed, then the little figure moved to the edge of the hospital bed and again sat in Lotus, but this time, one of its paws was on the uncovered hand of his 'person' which was on the opposite side of the hand being held by his 'other person'. The little figures other hand was held out to the side—

And the two dark forms, the Old Man and the ninja stepped up close. One hand from each was extended, a single finger from each, one resting on the top of the little figures paw, the other touching it from underneath—

A chain of hands was now formed from the sleeping figure in the recliner opposite, to the three, through the unmoving form in the bed—

Three pairs of eyes closed . . . and power started to flow—

And two other pairs of eyes, one closed in sleep, the other in unconsciousness, only saw the stuff of dreams, zephyrs of hopes and desires and pleasant memories—

As the power of the three, flowed into the two . . .

"_Remember, ours is not to heal them completely, they should only be able to function without excessive strain," _the Old Man advised._ "Too much attention has been drawn to the Greater World already. Make them strong and rested, nothing more."_

"_Yes Master—"_

"_They will need it."_


	35. Thoughts Deeds and Emotions At The Brink

Doctor Director blinked her too tired eye trying to get it to focus on the monitor on the wall above her—

At the same time, she reached once again for the cup that all members of the CC vehicle crew where taking pains to keep filled with the strongest coffee that they could find.

It didn't help that the view on the monitor was distorted and blurred with occasional sharp jerking movement as the latest mechanical probe made its way deeper into the warehouse. This particular one had gotten farther now than any of the previous attempts having survived two attempts to kill it.

_Maybe,_ was the Directors tired, not really hopeful thought, _it's through all the traps and we can at last get a feel for just what is going on inside—_

But she really didn't hope—

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Back at Global Justice headquarters, 'Redoubt', her coat now off, her head resting against the palm of the arm that was propped on the table before her, her other hand holding the receiver firmly against her ear—

Then her head snapped up as the palm slapped down on the table—

"'Pinnacle'? 'Redoubt'. I have been trying for five hours to get someone at a high enough level to . . . "

"Yes I understand what time it is back there. It's 2:AM here and I'm feeling every second of it on top of my jet lag. But _someone_ has been slamming doors and dragging heels! It has _never_ taken me the amount of time to—"

"What? That's what I'm trying to do! What I've _been_ trying to do! Are you saying—?"

'Redoubt' actually growled before her next— "'Ramrod' himself gave the rescinding order yesterday evening and I'm just now finding out about it from _you_! I want someone's _balls_ for this!"

She listened for quite a period as she fought down her barely contained rage. Finally she managed an almost strangled, "_fine_! But you need to make sure that the dams are all burst and this gets out to the proper sections. I will not be responsible if someone 'screws the pooch' at this point."

'Redoubt' listened a moment longer and the said in a tight, controlled voice, "thank you, I appreciate all your assistance of course." She then put down the handset and leaned tiredly back into the chair.

Then the 'other' phone on the desk before her buzzed. With a wince and a muttered curse, 'Redoubt' reached out for it.

'Redoubt.'

She listened for a moment, then cast a tired eye at the wall clock, "I know that 'One Eye' has been trying to reach me since before midnight but I wanted to get some matters taken care of first and I have. I'm not going to call her back at this point as I'm going to go out in person to get a feel for just what is going on . . ."

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Monique's eyes snapped open and she sat up with a start—

And almost as quick, caught herself . . . putting a hand to her chest as she pulled in a trembling breath and tried to get her heart to slow down. She'd had a flash (again) of some other girl in the juvy hall dorm trying to sneak into her footlocker and steal—

But she wasn't in the juvy hall dorm. She was free, unrestrained for the first time—

She was in her own bed, inside of her room, safely away from all harm in her own home—

And in a way, she was still in . . . maybe not juvy hall . . . most certainly a prison of a different kind.

Her head went down into her hands as her mind flailed about. It had taken a long talk with Kim's Nana, who gave her clear, persuasive arguments from all sides of the problem and with words of wisdom that Monique could not ignore. As a result, she had agreed to go home with her folks and allow them the comfort of having their daughter safely back under their roof.

But now, despite the kindness and clear logic of Mrs. Possible's arguments, deep _deep_ inside her, Monique knew that coming home had been a mistake. And it wasn't because of her parents wants or needs—

Or even Monique's need to be with Felix—

It was something else, much harder to understand, hard for Monique to even understand . . . until now.

Because she was still in a prison.

Prior to her incarceration, Monique would never have recognized the changes and fears that had come over her or believed that they were possible to affect her the way they had. As a person, she was quite a bit like her friend Kim. Assertive, disciplined, level-headed, a self-starter and hard worker, she prided herself on all of these—

And Juvenile Hall; meshed with the unknown of, at the beginning, what was happening with Kim and Ron . . . and at the end, her emotional disaster with what had happened to Felix . . . seemed to have bent or broken all those things that she prided herself in. Monique knew that Kim had been shocked by the way she looked and how much weight she had lost. Her parents had had the same reaction.

None of them seemed to realize that none of it had been Monique's choice—

NOTHING . . . had been Monique's choice. Her entire life had been run by the Hall staff. When she got up, how she dressed, when and what she ate, when and how she did her 'school work' or her 'work assignments', when she went to bed—

Like any custodial staff that Monique had ever heard of, they seemed to take delight in giving her a hard time because she was the "Middleton Home Town Hero's Female Sidekick and Fashion Designer'.

Monique had lost or been forced to discard so much of who and what she was simply to survive—

And the results of it . . . that was what was happening now. Monique was still . . . there . . . in the dorm . . . despite the reality of all her other senses—

And she wanted to be in the worst way, there—

With Felix.

She needed to be doing something that _SHE_ wanted to do. Something that was _HER_ decision—

She wanted . . . needed to climb into bed with him . . . knowing and not caring if he didn't know she was there, praying and hoping that in his comatose condition . . . that he would know—

There was no peace for her. And with that, no sleep.

She'd allowed herself to be swayed and she knew the reason for that as well. Her exhaustion was part of the cause . . . and that came from very little sleep in the dorm, partly because of the thieves, partly because of her anxiety.

The other part . . .

And that part of it frightened her, as nothing had ever frightened her before.

_Felix, do I love you so much that this is what is happening to me? That I can't rest or have any other thoughts except for you lying as if you were dead? Or is it just the guilt, and a result of the anger and terror of being a captive . . . that has made me this way . . . and made you a convenient point for all my guilt, anger, terror and helplessness to focus on? And I don't know, I honestly don't know which way it is. And with you . . . the way you are . . . I don't know when and if I'll find out, when or if I'll ever be able to resolve this._

Almost against her will, Monique looked longingly at the photo on her side table—her stretched across Felix's lap, poised as if she was riding him like a belly board—

_Do I really love you? Do you have any memory of your love for me?_

Monique's hands came up to her face as it dropped into them, silent sobs, well practiced from her time in the hall, welled up in her.

_Felix! What were your last conscious thoughts? Were they of what was happening to you . . . _

_Or . . . were they . . . of me? Of us?_

And the sobs came harder, but still silent—

As a pair of eyes watched—

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In another Middleton house, another young woman was failing as well, to get any rest.

She had been in the same position for hours, kneeling beside her bed, folded hands on its edge with her forehead resting against them, tears weeping from her eyes and fervent words being mouthed by her lips—

As she repeatedly confessed her sins—

Begged for forgiveness—

And prayed for those she had hurt, however unknowingly—

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The pain grew until it reached a point that Bonnie realized that she was awake. She was already doped up with enough meds that it took her some time to realize that she _was_ awake and dumbly staring at the blinking lights of one of the machines beside her bed. Her memories where disjointed and uncertain as they existed side-by-side with evil dreams—

But there were two points of which she was certain.

She was alive . . . and even more frightening was that it felt as if she was going to live, the impending sense of the tunnel closing about her—

She was definitely sure that the tunnel had almost been completely closed—

But then the second point—

"Why Ron—" and she actually said it out loud, to her own surprise.

Of course she already knew the answer—

_'Killing you would be too easy an out for you Rockwaller. Letting you live and having you face everyone you've hurt, forcing you to explain your actions, apologizing to them, seeking their forgiveness or tasting their wrath, being exposed to the public scrutiny and embarrassment, having to have you work off any fine, punishment or requirement that your victims place on you would be a much more fitting revenge.'_

Now she was suffering the cruel truth of his promise—

Of his anger . . . his hatred . . .

Or . . . . . .

. . . . . . or was she?

She . . . had . . . felt Ron when he had done . . . whatever it was—

She . . . had . . . felt Ron . . . as if he was all around her, inside her, running through her . . .

There hadn't been a cruel thought in . . . around . . . through or even behind 'him' when Bonnie had felt 'him' there . . .

Ron had been frightened . . . but that was not surprising, Ron had always seemed frightened (except when he had that one oh-so-scary-in-the-clutch-look on his face). But . . . he had been frightened for himself sure, and she had felt his fright for _them_, the two of them bonded together. But, Bonnie had also felt—

Ron Stoppable had been frightened for . . . her. He'd done it for . . .

. . . her . . .

Bonnie couldn't believe—

The memories, as disjointed as the dreams . . . came unbidden—_ 'And I'm sure that if you do it right, you wont even have to do it alone. You should have some help, faithful help, at your side to even things up.'_

_'My Guardians thought it wise to contact my Sensei, and he came to me, when it seemed, I really really needed him in a way I never thought I would.'_

'_So that means that you also have something to do with Ron Stoppable?' – _

'_I am his Sensei, his teacher.'_

_'Contact my Sensei.'_

Even for Bonnie's drug addled mind—_ the student follows the teacher. . . in all things_

In pertinence for her sins, Bonnie closed her eyes and accepted the pain.

And at the same time, Bonnie knew, never in a million billion years, would she _ever_ call Ron Stoppable a loser in any shape or form again.

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Doctor Director had to turn her head all the way around to see just who it was that came into the CC vehicle. She only had the energy to grunt a greeting before she turned back to the monitor before her. A moment later, as a crewmember shifted a chair so the visitor could sit on the Directors 'eye side', 'Redoubt' slid in beside her.

"I have some news," 'Redoubt' said in the low tones standard for use in confined spaces such as this.

"I might have some as well in a moment," Doctor Director countered. As she felt 'Redoubt's eyes on her, she continued without further pause.

"We've been trying for hours to get a remote crawler probe inside. Took eight of them to get us to the point were we were actually 'inside' inside, as in inside the main part where the sensor information says the 'individual' was located. The probe actually got into the room, pivoted about, caught a glimpse of . . . whoever it was, then it was knocked out."

Doctor Director reached out and tapped the currently blank screen before her. "It was a real quick image, but it should have been enough to give us a clear view once it is cleaned up and enhanced for the conditions."

Doctor Director then gave a glance at 'Redoubt'. "Now, after all this, I hope you have good news?"

"Redoubt' gave a tired snort. "I can _not_ believe what I had to go through for this. It was if—"

The voice of the technician behind them sounded like he was suddenly very, very scared— "oh shit!"

The two women felt their insides go suddenly cold at the tone even as they started to turn around in tandem—

But the tech, scared enough to want to have others be in the same place he was, switched it through to the Directors monitor.

The Director of Global Justice and the Head Investigative Contact for the Executive Branch regarding Unconventional Operations turned back to the screen in front of them.

"Oh my God!" breathed 'Redoubt', pure unadulterated horror in her tone.

Doctor Director's one eye was squinting in revulsion and she had to remind herself after a moment, to close her hanging jaw. She used that physical movement/sensation to jar her brain back into gear, which it did in a fashion as it just did not _want_ to function. "Dorothy," she said in the barest of whispers (as if the vision on the screen could hear her), "I don't think that the psych profile we were given on Drakken is anywhere near being quite accurate."

"Redoubt' gave out a shuddering breath, closed her eyes and allowed her whole body to give one mighty shake. Her eyes then came back open even as she was reaching for the extreme secure phone on the edge of the panel.

"Get me 'Pinnacle'", and 'Redoubt' was surprised that she was able to keep any tremors out of her voice. "Tell him that I am declaring an ELE alert and have him get 'Centurion' to contact me. Wake him up if you need to. And start the ball rolling on locating and transporting whoever it was that was handling the psych work on 'Madman Blue' for Section Ex-Ray. I want them in my physical presence in two hours with all necessary files and docs."

"Let's just hope he waits that long," Doctor Director said in a prayerful tone.

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The Dark Figure however was quickly running out of patience. It knew that its host body was starting to fade after days of starvation, abuse and neglect. And the impatience of the fore-mind. . . turning slowly into frustration as the time and futile attempts progressed—

It could not understand why it was under the continued assault and wary probings of the second stringers when even the most juvenile of minds should be able to understand that there was only one 'possible' way to make contact with it.

It made the decision to make its displeasure known, and in a fashion that should bring the pair that he sought in for . . . the final confrontation.

After all, it was a perfect opportunity, after the failed first attempt, to give the little devils their due

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"Ma'am, just got a report from the hospital. Agent Du is stabilized and resting comfortably."

Doctor Director grunted a response as she glanced at the timepiece; 4:00AM. She had been, other than the rest of the crew in the CC vehicle, alone for at least the last half an hour as 'Redoubt' had gone to the airport to greet the incoming special flight. The Director didn't want to say that she 'desperately' awaited the information/insight that was suppose to be coming, but . . .

And it suddenly came to Doctor Director that in the black, depressing hour after the viewing, that 'Redoubt' had never told her just what her 'news' was.

In the meantime, time passed slowly . . . very slowly. Doctor Director knew that she had been blessed with a well of infinite patience, but this one long, slow morning was eating at her considering the sense of doom and foreboding that hung over the entire industrial complex like a heavy wet blanket. In the hour and a half since the probes image had reveled just what it was that they were dealing with, absolutely_ nothing_ had happened other that some reports from the agents on the various perimeter rings of very small, stealthy figures 'skittering' around. They didn't appear to be rats for they didn't show up in the thermal night vision units, but nothing else would explain . . .

No . . . there—there could be an explanation.

But . . . Drakken had never—he wouldn't—

But then again . . . this really wasn't Drakken—

The Doctor came up out of her reclined position and 'slapped' her hand at the emergency all-hands circuit switch—

"All positions! Roach Hunt! I say again—Roach Hunt!"

Outside of the CC vehicle, the guard at the door reacted instantaneously. She swiveled, dropped and dove in under the vehicle, one hand pulling out the big flood flashlight from its special cargo pocket on her utilities—

It lit as she hit the asphalt under the vehicle, its intense beam sweeping up and over the multiple rear axel assembly—

And hanging by their little arms next to each wheel section, those awful frozen mechanical smiles almost 'laughing' at her—

The guard hit her Comm button to cry out the warning—

"Roaches! Roaches! Their Di—" and her voice caught and died as the little lights behind their eyes suddenly all went out—

The multiple explosions under the CC vehicle literally drove it straight up into the air as at the same time, all around the industrial complex, matching ones of various ferocity (depending on the number for source points) erupted through the early morning darkness—

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Kim moved just a bit, mentally preparing to groan from the stiffness that she always suffered when she slept solely on her back.

But she didn't feel that bad, which considering how awful her body had been the previous morning, would have shocked and surprised her had she been awake enough for those feelings to register.

But she felt surprisingly—

A yawn interrupted the thought, as did the fact that she realized that her face was completely covered with her hair which had dumped forward over her face. With a reluctant sign, for she realized that despite however much time had elapsed her hand was still firmly holding Ron's, she pulled it loose and using both her sets of fingers, she parted the red curtain before her eyes.

The stark light coming through the window spoke of dawn. She levered herself up in the recliner to actually see the sky, noting that it was barely dawn with the high clouds visible in her view still gray, yet untouched by the sun over the horizon.

She was still sleepy enough not to note that she was able to accomplish the task almost effortlessly. She did feel that the sleep, next to-hand in hand with Ron, seemed to almost miraculously reenergized her. Almost to the point that all of her aches and pains seemed to be past memories. A sleepy smile lit her face as a glance at the hospital bed beside her showed Rufus still standing guard on her BFBF's chest—

Kim, trying to be as quiet as she could, moved the covers aside and climbed out of the recliner, intending to tiptoe into the bathroom—

Then she got a good look _out_ of the window, into the parking lot of Middleton Medical Center—

She spared enough time to look in love and longing at the still form of her boyfriend in the bed as she shot past it and out of the door.

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The important man, grouchy and gruff from the sleep interrupting call that had brought him to his office early, spent several moments saying very bad words as he reviewed the nights event logs and the hastily completed sit-report. Although he didn't have the authority, he wanted to put 'Redoubt' on a spit and slow roast her. He really didn't trust her judgment (due to his formative years in 'the old south' in the twenties and thirties, he never did accept several 'new' social ideas and concepts and 'Redoubt' violated several of them) and was convinced that she was panicking, declaring an 'Extinction Level Event' without reason. But her panic was forcing him to have to hedge his bets—

He knew that there would be hell to pay even if it couldn't be proven as too exactly what had happened—

But could he afford to take the chance?

With an angry clench of his jaw, he looked at the very secure handset—

He'd never learned to like waiting—

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Kim came into the emergency wing, her eyes staring about her in horror. Gurneys lined the wall and where they weren't, there were wheelchairs . . . and those in the wheelchairs still wore most of their Global Justice utilities, all too often, accented with bloody bandages—

So the phalanx of ambulances lining the drive outside, a sight in and of itself incomparable to the fact that there was no place in the hospital parking lot visible from Ron's room that did not have a GJ hovership sitting on it, some of which were still offloading wounded.

Only one thought had instantly come to Kim—

_They found Drakken . . . and now Global Justice is paying the price_!

And that same thought was even more shocking once it confronted the reality of the sights and sounds in the Emergency Wing.

_My God_! Kim whispered to herself as she stepped further in, _was Shego right? Has Drakken really lost it to the point where he—_

Kim then stopped the thought, her mind going back to Drakken's island lair and what had been found there. If Drakken . . . or whatever he was now, was capable of _that_, then he was more than capable of what now confronted her.

_God help us all_ she managed to herself.

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He wanted to groan . . . but he _knew_ that even that was going to hurt. He expected _everything_ to hurt. He was ab-so-lute-ly positive that even his hurts were going to _**HURT!**_

_Ron Stoppable_ his mind said to itself, trying its best to delay the enviable, _that stunt had to be the sickest and wrongest of _anything_ you have ever tried. You didn't even know if you could do it without killing the both of you . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . you are alive . . . aren't you?_ A moment's consideration. _I must be. What little I feel feels just too awful to be dead_

Ron took a moment to try and organize his thoughts. He was in a bed, in a position that he was all too familiar with, _hospital bed. Feels like I got the whole treatment, right down to the catheter . . . oooohhhhhh—extra sick and wrong!_

There was an . . . strange feeling 'in' him which at first he didn't understand. Almost as if there was a . . . 'hint' of something about himself which wasn't quite . . . him himself. It took a minute—

_Sensei!? I—I feel him and yet I—I don't. I—it's like . . . almost as if . . . and there's something else alongside it . . . maybe two something's. . . it's strange, it's . . . oh!_

Ron made the connection, realizing what must have happened, feeling small, grateful and more than a little anxious about exactly what his Master would have to say about it all when they at last conversed. At the same time, Ron wondered if Bonnie (if she was alive. But the feeling that was 'in' him somehow told him that she was) felt the 'residual' of 'him', his transference of life energy to her 'in' her. Ron of course, now that he was aware could very distinctly 'feel' Sensei's contribution. Of the other two, both were . . . very familiar, with the weird mental attachment that the 'smaller' of the two 'others' was in fact the more familiar one. The other . . . he knew it, but it was veiled, as if trying to hide itself from him.

Then, something else stuck Ron. The other 'other', the smaller, more familiar one . . . something still seemed to be there as if—

As if it was curled up on Ron's chest as only one little guy in the universe could do—

Ron, throwing all thought about impending pain to the wind, snapped his head up and tore open his eyes—

He caught a glimpse of Wade, standing in the doorway, startled beyond all measure by Ron's sudden 'rising from the dead', looking as if he had just been in the process of backing out of the room having realized that Ron was 'still out'—

But it was only a glimpse, an impression—

For a little naked bald head snapped up all on its own, just inches away from Ron's face, beady little eyes going wide—

And that little creature launched itself at Ron—

And he rose to meet it, the embrace . . . and the tears coming at the exact same moment.

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It took a while for Kim to realize that a cold chill had come over her as she stood to the side of the corridor to allow what had to be a small army of staff, volunteers and loanees from other facilities a clear path for whatever their current task was. Kim wrapped her own arms around herself in response even as she closed her eyes for just a moment—

And when Kim's eyes came open, the emeralds were aflame . . . and it was traveling thought her body igniting it to a similar furnace.

She was still missing her Kimmunicator having never had an opportunity to retrieve it from the FBI official who had taken it. So instead, Kim reached down into a pants pocket for her cellphone. Even as she did so, she turned about and started to stride back out of the Wing. A call to Wade would give her a briefing and since it was now without question that Drakken was in Middleton, it should only be minutes before she could reach his new lair and then—

"Kim?!?"

Kim's head snapped up at the voice in front of her, her eyes going wide at the sight of—

"Monique? What are you doing here?"

For her friend was standing just ahead of her with a supply laden cart in front of her. But Kim had _seen_ her best girlfriend leave with her parents the night before—

"I couldn't sleep," came the explanation, tumbling out of the other girl like a flood out of a broken dam. "I was having nightmares and kept waking expecting to find myself being attacked by my 'dorm mates'. My mom heard me crying and we talked. She brought me back just as the first injured started to arrive. We helped unload all the ambulances and trucks coming from the other hospitals with equipment and supplies and I've been doing restocking duty ever since." Monique stopped and looked at her friend with an expression of— "I'm helping, I'm doing good things! I'm not lying around feeling guilty or helpless or—" and Monique's voice choked up as the underlying stress and feelings started to well up again.

And Kim grabbed her friend hard . . . and after a moment, a . . . long moment, Monique was able to recover.

"K—Kim . . . " Monique had started.

"Ssshhhh!" was the red heads only reply. The two of them held together for another minute, then with a mutual squeeze, came back apart.

Monique was rubbing at wet eyes when she said, "thanks." To which Kim replied with a gentle smile and a "no big."

Then something behind Kim caught Monique's eyes and Kim spun her head around.

To see, far down the hall, her own mom, looking as if she had just come out from surgery, standing talking to a clutch of medical people even as she pulled her mask down. The two teens exchanged a glance—

After helping Monique get the supply cart to its destination, the two teens gingerly approached MrsDrP who was now standing at the apex of a corner talking 'down' to someone who had to be seated or lying just out of their view.

"—has an epidural hematoma from when a brick wall came down on him," was what Kim's mom was saying when they got close enough to hear. But that was all she said as their approach caught her attention and her head swung over, recognition flashing through to be replaced with fatigue, concern and now . . . with a look directly at her daughter, something akin to fear.

But it only lasted a second after which MrsDrP stepped back to allow the two girls to see just who it was that she was talking too. Of course Monique really wouldn't have a clue—

But Kim . . .

The red-haired teen caught a sharp breath at the sight of Doctor Director sitting in the wheelchair, neck in a full brace, a bloodstained bandage covering one entire cheek, the arm nearest to the girls braced across her body in a cast/sling.

But that one eye, although glazed with pain both physical and mental, locked on Kim like a magnet and drew her like a moth to the flame.

The woman's voice was barely contained rage when she said, "he got us."

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Kim stood in the hall after having left the Emergency Wing and with shuttering sigh, leaned heavily into the corner of a convenient pillar, oblivious to Monique who was standing at a close but respectful distance behind her. _I can't believe that many dead _Kim said to herself in complete wondrous shock and disbelief._ I can't believe that kind of destruction. I can't believe—_ and there she had to stop because she didn't want to complete the thought . . .

Kim didn't know if she could handle the fact that right now, her mother was scared to death . . . for her.

Not just concerned, not just worried, not just afraid as she might have been in the past—

But . . . downright weak-kneed scared.

And after Doctor Directors description of what Drakken had looked like—

Kim . . . she needed—

She went to . . .

Kim stopped just as she started to enter Ron's room, for there, right at the end of her boyfriends bed was Wade . . . and he was intently looking in Ron's direction—

Kim felt her already anxious heart go into instant maximum overdrive and she lurched in, eyes going toward where she had left Ron even as her mouth managed to get out, "Wade! What's wrong? Is Ron—" and Kim came to an instant standstill.

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The cold was causing goose bumps on her fair skin. But it was the cold inside, a cold that could only be made up by righting a wrong, by doing something to make up for oh so terrible a mistake.

She should be almost 'frozen' for she had left her home before even the false dawn and it was miles of walking from there to here. She hadn't even put on a coat . . . because it didn't matter. She knew in her heart of hearts just what was probably going to happen this day and she—

She had heard the windows of her house rattle from the distant explosions. She had turned on the local news station and had watched until the bulletins started to come in. she didn't know the why or the reason, or anything else . . . except that she knew, she had a premonition of just what was going to happen . . .

And she knew what she had to do.

So she stood outside of her goal, waiting, not having a clue of what it was that would tell her that 'this was it', only certain that when she saw it, she would know.

And then she would act . . .

And she would pay debts owed.

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Kim wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to . . .

She managed not to do the first, she immediately started the second, as for the third, it took her only a moment—

For before her eyes, in an embrace so close to what she herself had experienced very early that morning, Rufus the Naked Mole Rat, was holding and being held tight. Only this time, the holder—

And to Kim Possible, the fact that the reason how and why was still unknown for either the cause or the effect _or_ the recovery, just the fact that her Best Friend Boyfriend was awake, sitting up and crying softly on his own as he almost crushed his little friend to his cheek—

All Kim knew was what she wanted, she _needed_ to do . . . was the third thing . . . which she did . . .

She came in and embraced the both of them—

And Ron Stoppable, for the moment uncaring about all else except in the moment of recognition of his lady and the light of his life, drew her in to the both of them—

And the crying of all present, including that of young Wade Load and Monique Raven, joined all together . . . and healed them further . . . and resurrected the bond that had been bent, but never broken.

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'Redoubt' looked; with dismay, anger, grief, a whole host of emotions that one in her position and responsibility had no business having, at the sight around her. Middleton Police and Fire had set up a Command Post in direct line-of-sight to the warehouse that 'Drakken' was held up in. The actual way was blocked by Middleton PD's two armored recovery vehicles backed up by an alley-filling piece of fire apparatus parked crossways across the mouth of the drive. The CP was set up behind this cover with personnel swarming about like ants.

Sweeps of the perimeter had taken out a host more of the little devils with only a few injuries as the cops had issued a shoot-on-sight order with an admonishment that it be done at safe distances to avoid the blast and shrapnel. This tactic seemed to have done the trick (baring any of the little buggers intentionally hiding in places the search could not cover). The same sweeps had made sure all structures and enclosures in the effected area had been cleared of personnel and/or sleeping transients and a full lock down had been effected. The local FBI contingent was present in full force with ATF in route from Denver and a special military containment team was on final in helos from Colorado Springs—

'Redoubt' . . . doubted that any of it would be effective. She knew deep inside her what must truly be going on—

She dreaded what it had to be. She was fearful that it would be a . . . means rather than an end. But she also knew that none of her present resources would work for the situation. None of the ones on their way would affect it any better. 'Redoubt' knew that she was out of options. She was only praying that when she did call them, and they did respond, that what they found, wasn't an Endgame already in progress.

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"Oh Ron," and Ron Stoppable felt a shiver course through him as that voice, filled to overflowing with worry, thankfulness, disbelief, love, shock and relief as it barely breathed into his ear.

And despite his own surprise and joy, confusion and disorientation, release and amazement . . . from everything that had happened in the last five minutes since he had awoken . . . he felt the anxiety rising in him like sap up a tree . . .

. . . cause someone was going to want an explanation and Ron knew now—

what _must_ have happened to bring him back as it had . . .

and how no thought had been given by him to the reactions of his loved ones to what he had done to save Bonnie . . .

and no thought to what his _girlfriend_ would think . . . and would demand of him if he survived the trial that he had attempted.

Of course the fact that he had done what he had done and not only survived, and apparently saved Bonnie, _and_ had done it in such a way that he had apparently received Sensei's approval for only Sensei could have possibly restored—

But none of that helped one little bit with how to deal with the here and now—

And the fact that _that_ here and now was centered in a certain fiery tempered red-head who was clinging to him at the moment with the small shudders of repressed sobs but who at any moment would get her wits back about her—

Suddenly, he felt Kim's grip go from a frantic yet loving clutch to a grab/tear/rend iron grip—

The "RON STOPPABLE!" came at him with enough force to nearly blow the near ear out of the other side of his head—

_I think Kim just got her wits back!_ Ron cringed and tried to duck—

But Kim had too good a hold of him as she had pulled her body back while still holding him with her hands. Out of the corner of the nearest eye, Ron saw (and could almost literally _feel_) the heat radiating from Kim's blazing emerald eyes and he tried to shrink himself down to Rufus's size as he saw Kim's mouth come open—

"WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING!?! WERE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!? DO YOU HAVE **ANY** IDEA JUST HOW _**SCARED**_ I WAS?!?!?! HOW SCARED OUR PARENTS WERE?!?!?!?"

Ron managed to turn his head a little toward his definitely unhappy girlfriend (Rufus clutching the side of his cheek looking out at Kim with fearful awe) and managed only a choked throated, "heh . . . . . . . . . . heh . . . . . . . . ah—"

"DON'T YOU GIVE ME THAT YOU . . . . YOU . . . . YOU . . ARRGGGG!" as Kim practically threw herself back away from Ron, the counterforce from her actions knocking Ron sideways and almost over the edge of the bed; IV, catheter and all. In an instant, Monique was there, grabbing Ron/Rufus before they went all the way over the side even as Mon continued to have eyes locked on Kim as if she was a dangerous animal that one didn't turn ones back on—

But . . . there was only silence, as Kim stood with her back to them, her face into the far wall, her entire body, legs apart and arms slightly away from her sides, looking as tight as the wire holding up a suspension bridge—

Monique and Wade managed to trade a quick, apprehensive glance—

It was then, that very slowly, like the air leaking out of a balloon, that Kim's head dropped and all the tension slowly left her body.

But other than that, Kim didn't move, although the other three in the room allowed their hearts to restart.

They all jumped when a voice that they _knew_ was Kim's although they could barely recognize it, as it was so low and horse—

"Mon, Wade? Would you two please give me and my boyfriend some privacy?"

"Ha . . . ah . . . actually Kim," and there was actually a very slight tremor in Wade's voice as if he was forcing himself to speak up. "I just came by to give you a new Kimmunicator." He pulled it out of his pocket and laid it in a chair before he started to shuffle toward the door, speaking very rapidly. "NowthatI'vedonethatI'lljustbeonmy—"

"Please Wade," came Kim's voice. "Just give me and Ron a few minutes." The teen heroes head then turned enough to look at the young boy, who sucked in a sharp breath at the tears and the look on that face that he thought he had known so well, "please!"

Wade couldn't refuse. "Sure," he replied before he started out of the door, giving Ron and Rufus a wary look on his way out.

"Kim," started Monique.

"Mon," and Kim's voice almost _begged_ which caused her girlfriends eyes to actually bug out.

"Sure," was all Mon said before giving Ron a look that had matched Wade's before she moved to the door, closing it behind her.

Ron Stoppable's face was like a young man looking at his approaching executioner as he waited for—

"Ron Stoppable," and the tone was that of the pronouncement of his doom—

Ron swallowed hard against a suddenly desert dry throat and desperately wished that he could (but he couldn't because of the multiple ways he was 'wired' to the bed) pull at his collar to allow air in he was certain that his neck had choked closed and he had stopped breathing—

The girl next to the wall, slowly turned around, deliberately folding her arms in front of her as she did so and—

Ron was absolutely convinced that he could _hear_ the paint on the wall sizzle as his girlfriends gaze flashed across it until it landed on the focus of her discontent—

Ron didn't _wilt_ under those emerald green death rays, he felt as if he disappeared in a flash, totally consumed—

At least he could hope that he would, because everything else that came to his mind was just wwaaayyyyy too painful.

"Aahhhhhhhh, Kim . . . . . I can explain—" and Ron almost dove under the bed despite his 'harness' when the glare flared like a nova sun. Ron felt like a deer-in-the-headlights in a brightly lit room . . . no place to run or hide . . . nothing to do but—

And so Ron dropped his head as if in shame, partially turning away as well, his throat, choked from too much emotion barely managing, "no I can't explain . . . can I."

Kim firmly shook her head . . . and then said in a voice soo tight, that Ron could barely recognize it. "No you can't. And I'm furious with you because of it. I want to say that at this moment, I am ready to turn around and walk out and never look back—" and with those words, Ron's eyes _crushed_ closed with agony and defeat even as he turned completely white—

But at that moment, Kim's voice turned to a heart-rendering emotion-choked almost sobbing as she said, "but as much as I _want_ to, I CAN'T because _**I LOVE YOU**_ too much!" One of her hands snapped up and angrily slapped at the flood of tears in her eyes. "I am SO _**angry**_ over the fact that you have so many secrets! so many promises to persons and things other than ME! So many things you can't talk about or can't do! I want to HATE you for the fact that they are all so much more important than ME! I WANT TO HATE YOU FOR ALMOST DIEING IN ORDER TO SAVE BONNIE!!!!!!!" A great sob took her and she had to bury her head in both of her hands.

In that moment, Ron wanted to die!

Kim's head then came up and in a tortured whisper, "But I can't!! I can't because I Love You and Respect You so much for just being who—"

Kim's shook her head sharply as she sucked in a great, shuddering breath. "All I'm going to say Ron Stoppable is that you owe me more that ten thousand sodas or nacos or _anything_ that you could possible think up." Kim's eyes now came down on her huddled boyfriend in the bed before her, her gaze, now filled with a pain that Ron could feel without even looking at her wrenching his heart even more—

"It's only the fact that I _know_ that you're honest with me and are _not_ not telling me to hide or get out of anything. I _know_ that you would tell me if you could—" and an even deeper harder breath took Kim, so filled with emotion that it shook her entire being to the point it radiated from her!

"And I know," Kim continued with all those emotions reverberating through the entire room, "that . . . whatever it was that you did; something that I'm not capable of understanding right now but can't deny that it is real and that it is special, something that was used to save the life of someone whom I would rather see racked over a bed of hot coals before being skinned alive, I want—I NEED—I _**HAVE**_ to let you know . . . just how badly you frightened me, how scared I was that I was going to have to go through the rest of my life without you . . . or worse, with you like Felix, an inert vegetable."

Ron had fallen, as much as the bed would allow him too, into a little ball around Rufus. He was _shamed_ that he had caused the love, the _light_ of his life, his entire being, to be hurt so badly as—

Therefore, his heart literally stopped when he felt those light but tremendously strong arms, trembling like leaves with the same emotion that filled the entire room with the force of her personality, slowly wrapped themselves around _his_ violently shaking shoulders and he felt that tear wet cheek lay itself on the back of his neck—

"And I need," came the whisper, going directly into him with the force of an onrushing avalanche, "to let you know just how DAMN proud of you I am—" and Ron found himself being squeezed and rocked as if Kim's very life depended on it, "and if you _**EVER**_ do that again Ron Stoppable to the extreme that you did it for Bonnie, where it endangers you're life to the extent that it apparently did—_**and you better not cross that line even if its to save me!—**_"

Ron _longed_ to tell his girl that now that he had been through it—and had a better understanding of his own abilities and limits, that he had never been 'endangered', but had only been 'drained' and in a weeks time would have been 'recharged' if that had not been done overnight by Sensei, Rufus and whomever the 'third' one was—

Without thinking, _needing terribly_ to let his love know regardless of the consequences, Ron came up a little, releasing Rufus, desperately grabbing with both of his hands, Kim's arm that was clutching him so hard across the front of his shoulders—"KP—"

"Don't say a _word_ Ron Stoppable," came the hiss in his ear like a razor sharp blade. "Not a single word! And I do _not_ want to hear _anything_ on the subject until the time you can tell me _everything_ and—" Kim's voice faltered.

Then in an almost pleading tone, Kim—"you will be able to tell me someday . . . won't you?"

"I promise," Ron barely managed out of his emotion-choked throat.

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As the last of the O.I.C.'s had reported to her . . . 'Redoubt' carefully considered her options. There _were_ other options, there was _always_ other options . . . but did they get the job done in the best time with a minimal amount of collateral damage, lowest obtainable casualties and considered probability of success in reaching the goal and/or accomplishing the mission—

. . . and was it—or was it not a trap—

'Redoubt' made a decision—

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Monique did not know if it was the _lack_ of complete, continual screaming, crying or shouting that comforted her or alarmed her as she leaned against the wall right next to the door to Ron's room, head half cocked and near ear straining with all its might. Wade stood across the hall from her, looking on with plain disapproval _and where does he get off with that_ Monique snorted, half amused, half annoyed, considering_ that he has the whole world wired . . . well, at least Kim's house. How else would he have gotten those videos way back when Kim caught that cold from the twins. And you can't tell me that he hasn't taken a peek when Ron and Kim were alone together in her room. In fact I'll bet—_

Then Monique noticed a nurse hurrying towards them from the monitoring station, one arm coming up and out to push through Ron's closed door even as the woman looked at Monique with concern in both expression and tone, "is everything all right in there? We had to strip the ward to help in the ER and there were problems with another patient and when I got back to the panel, I see that the young man's BP and pulse are elevated and have been for some time—"

Monique reacted instantly and threw herself across the door baring the nurses way, "he's awake," she said before her brain fully engaged.

"What?!?" and the nurse's voice rose an octave. "Why wasn't someone called? Is he coherent? Is he in any pain or distress?" And as she said this, the nurses face became rapidly more agitated as Monique dodged back and forth in front of her, blocking the nurses every attempt to get past and into Ron's room. "Will you please _move_," the nurse finally cried in exasperation.

Monique's mind was frantically trying to come up with something—_anything,_ that would distract or draw off the woman who after all, was only trying to do her job—

"Nurse Angel," the PA system suddenly announced, "report to the ER stat!"

The nurse looked up startled, "now why—" she wondered. She then gave Monique a smoking glance. "I'll be back. If there was any indication that the patient was in distress young lady, I would have security called to remove you." She then turned and stalked away.

Monique collapsed against the wall next to the door, blowing out a huge breath. "Brother, that was close," she sighed, speaking to Wade who was now standing just over a little from her. As Monique finished the sentence, she turned to look at the young man—

And her eyes locked on him . . .

. . . for he had the smuggest look on his face.

"Wade???" Monique asked aghast.

Wade pulled his hand from behind his back . . . and in it was something similar to Kim's Kimmunicator but much smaller and much more complex.

"What is that?" Monique breathed.

If it was possible for the smug look to get smugger— "This is the 'Over-Load'. It's a wireless controller to my setup back in my room. It doesn't have the multiple monitors, screens and keyboards that I have there, but it otherwise allows me to do anything I can do there from here or anywhere else—" and he broke into a grin—

"Like cut into this places PA system and call a nurse to another location," Monique finished in a sharply accusing tone, belied by the smile on her face. Wade just beamed back at her in answer.

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The pain in Doctor Directors lower back and hips, injured along with the rest of her in the multiple explosions under her Control Vehicle, was sever to the point that it was beyond bringing tears to her eye and should have required some fairly stiff pain medication . . . but she was refusing all of that—

For her physical pain wasn't even close to the mental and emotional pain that was being kept caged under tempered steel locks. She continued to move about in her wheelchair, talking, touching her injured people spread out throughout the wing, the wheelchair itself working as an impromptu torture device, but only because she _refused_ to be confined to a bed.

Her brain was working strictly in the 'now', refusing to try to contemplate what had happened, refusing to speculate on what was going to come of this debacle, focusing strictly on what she could do for her people and their kin who were now flocking to the hospital from their homes wide and far.

Then the secure portable handset in her lap rang—

And the voice on the other end; tired, depressed, but like what was inside her, still full of steel and with the whip of authority and the tone of responsibility said only, "get them for me Betty, we have no other choice."

And as she closed her phone, the Director of Global Justice felt the steel inside her creak under the strain of additional weight/responsibility—

But it didn't break; it continued to carry the load—

The sacrifices of the day would demand no less—

And she knew the two would understand.

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The two of them, with the third lying across their laps as they sat hip-to-hip on the bed so that he could be with the both of them, just held each other in silence, the anger, guilt and other whirlwind emotions casting off as their physical contact, with arms tightly around each other and head/cheeks pressed together, helped calm and steady their emotional balance. After what seemed like forever and at the same time, as if no time had passed, as if the two of them reacted to the same thought, their heads came up, hands came up and caressed wet cheeks.

Kim looked at her Best Friend/Boyfriends face, grateful beyond measure to _whatever_ had happened, but at the same time, there was something—

"Your face," she said softly, touching it just as softly, "almost all your 'ferret face', your bruising, is gone." Kim reached up and traced a nail around the bridge of Ron's nose. "Just a little bit here is all that is left." Her tone left no doubt that she wanted to continue with a question . . . but she did not.

Ron smiled at her, grateful . . . and humble and amazed that Kim was so understanding, so patient with him and all his problems and baggage. And in response, he noted, and reached out to touch with his own finger, "right back at cha' KP. The cut on your lip is gone."

Amazement came over Kim's face as her hand came back to touch her own face. When she realized that it was true, she looked at Ron with disbelief and wonder—

And Ron took the opportunity to bring his head down—

It didn't hurt to kiss anymore (although a certain third party quickly got squeezed out from between them) . . . . . . for either of them . . . no matter how hard they did it! And they did it hard . . . and passionate . . . and other things started to get . . . and they didn't care—

A minute later, when a sharp knock came at the door, the two of them tried to tear apart, but Ron had had his hands all the way up Kim's back under her top and she had had her hands in through the open back of his hospital gown so disengagement was difficult and both of their faces where flushed and angry/frustrated/embarrassed—

Then Kim heard the machine at the bedside beeping wildly and she realized that Ron was still hooked up to the monitors and was probably setting off every alarm in the building.

Kim jumped off of the bed and hastily straightened her clothing, sweeping her hair back over her shoulders, Ron pulling up the sheets and blankets to cover—

The door came open just enough for a face to look in. Thankfully, no one had ever actually turned the lights on in Ron's room, the defused light from the window acting as the lone illumination. But the hall lights were on, and MrsDrP's face was clearly visible as she looked sharply in at her daughter and almost son-in-law.

Kim hopped that the dim lighting was helping hide the blush on her face until it had a chance to fade and she prayed that her mom didn't reach in and turn the room lights on—

Then, Kim actually _looked_ at her mother face—

"M—mom? What is it?" Kim asked in sudden worry.

Her mom didn't answer; she just pushed the door all the way open—

Allowing a bandaged and bloody Doctor Director to wheel herself into the room.

Both Kim and Ron caught their breaths at the look on the GJ Chiefs face—

Doctor Directors tone was just as flat and dead when she said, "you're needed."

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A/N: I want to say just how grateful I am for everybody reading this and to those who review, an extra special thanks.

All the preliminarys are done. The climactic battle starts with the next chapter. It has been written, just working to finish the aftermath. Will be some down time due to the fact that I'm on vacation but have been tasked to paint the entire inside of the house and tomorrow my office gets dismantled.

I hope what is coming will at least satisfy any expectations. It's life and death drama with the fate of the world in the balance; and some heroes will pay the ultimate sacrifice.

And thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for coming up with a line in a review that fit in just perfectly into Bonnie's scene in this chapter.

I will remain, as always;

Your humble and obedient servant

The Wise Duck


	36. Addressing the Board

A/N. Am finally back up after the massive home painting. Thank you to everyone who read and especially those who reviewed. I am going to post the first two chapters over the next couple of days—then actually 'go' on vacation for a couple of weeks. Am still working on the aftermath of the climax as I have been without a computer for this whole time. Promise to get that done and get the rest of this posted just as fast as I can once I get back from my trip.

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls—

The Start of Endgame

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Nervous police and fire personnel shifted about on their posts or apparatus. Pale faced agents in Global Justice utilities, rage or shock or grief lying like mines just below the surface of their expressions, stood about in small groups, dazed and despondent after a morning of hell. Grim faced men in 'raid jackets' with markings of various State and Federal agencies stalked about with counterparts decked out in military combat camys, attempting to look like they were getting a handle on the situation which would lead to decisive action—

But all of them were just waiting . . . on the orders of the grim faced black woman who stood outside of the Middleton Police Command Van and stared down past the blocking vehicles, down the long, deserted alley, trying to bore a hole through the walls of the nondescript warehouse at the far end.

She too was waiting—

And in the quiet, early morning air, in the distance, the sound of a siren slowly reached the level of human hearing.

And the black woman knew, that this part of the wait was almost over—

And parts of her dreaded that.

But other parts steadied themselves for the final round just had to be approaching—

In fact it arrived, under police motorcycle escort, in a Middleton PD Supervisors SUV with all lights flashing. There had been a delay in part because one of the arriving personnel had to be 'unhooked' from all the apparatus of a hospital bed, anther part being that a stop had to be made in order for 'mission clothes' and equipment to be obtained—

And so, all eyes about registered as the couple (actually a trio if the small creature riding on the shoulder of one of the pair was counted) got out in their signature outfits and many had looks of relief while a good number of others looked more apprehensive (having seen the results of massively exploding lairs before).

The look on 'Redoubt's' face was initially neutral, but then folded into a questioning one, as three others got out of the SUV as well—

'Redoubt' forced her eyes back into a narrow but neutral look as the group came up before her. She then wagged her head toward the non-descript private motorbus parked over in the corner. "Come with me please."

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Inside the far warehouse, the inside now dimly filled with a dusty gray light from the broken skylight, a soft 'beep' emitted for the panel. The Figure almost came out of its chair. After a tense, hesitant moment, the Figure slowly settled back down. The local sensor net had detected 'the chip' from one of those who mattered—

The Figures head turned to look at the right panel, and it seemed as if there was another moment's hesitation. Small flashes of what might be emotion deep, deep inside the glazed eyes. But the hesitation was only a moment. For the hand then reached out and pushed the second button on the panel—

More lights sprang out on the device as it moved into 'ready' mode.

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Kim and Ron (with Rufus) followed the black woman with a face of stone into the bus. Inside were several men monitoring screens and panels, a couple of others were looking like guards, and waiting in the 'dining area' with a look of stewing impatience was a 'scholarly' looking woman whose eyes were firing daggers at the black woman. The woman's eyes then scanned the newcomers . . . and froze when they apparently recognized one of them—

The black woman turned around as the rest of the group came in and once she heard the door click closed, "I am 'Redoubt', and I am pleased that Team Possible," she nodded to Kim, Ron and Rufus, " could make it so quickly considering their own circumstances." 'Redoubts' head then looked up behind the team, her look a little more challenging. "I might ask—"

"You might," MrsDrP responded. "At the moment, I trust 'the community' about as far as I can throw them and—"

'Redoubts' face turned stern and she held up a hand, "should you be talking like this in front of—"

MrsDrP waved a hand to the man standing directly at her side, one of his eyebrow raised very high as if he was considering 'Redoubt' like a lab specimen. "I was briefed by Doctor Director as well as having conversations with many of the Global Justice wounded. Several of the traps encountered apparently had the earmarks of—"

"Cybertronics ma'am," MrDrP said, his voice both grave and angry. "Once again Drew Lipsky, or whatever it is that he has become, is perverting my work to deadly ends. I will not stand for that! And I am here to make sure that no further damage is done by that kind of a device."

'Redoubt' looked as MrDrP with penetrating eyes, searching, judging. Finally, "while you have a top security cleared Doctor, it's in military/commercial/scientific aerospace research and development. You are not cleared for . . . national security information and events—"

MrDrP's eyebrow went back up . . .

And with a sigh, 'Redoubt' finished, "but with this op, I'm not going to turn away any help or knowledge." The 'Redoubts' eyes shifted again and downright disapproval came into them. "and this one I remember for my initial situation briefing. What is _she_ doing here?"

Monique shrinked back a half step, but kept her eyes level and steady in response to the woman's challenge. She started to open her mouth to make a reply—

"She's here because she needs to be," And both 'Redoubt' and Monique looked to the speaker with shock.

"She's my friend," Ron continued, he 'serious face' going full force. "She's Kim's Best Girlfriend. She's been screwed, shafted, abused and mangled by all that's been going on probably worse is some ways than either Kim or I, because at least we have each other, while Monique's boyfriend—" and Ron stopped as if carrying the thought forward was too painful.

After a moment, 'Redoubt' gave an acknowledging nod, "I know about the boy."

That seemed to give Ron the strength to carry on with, "Monique deserves the right to see this through just like Kim and I, Mr&MrsDrP and anyone else who has been affected by it. She needs to be here."

'Redoubt' eyed Ron for another moment, then gave Kim a glance, followed by MrsDrP before allowing her eyes to go back to Monique. Then, taking a deep breath, "okay, she can stay, but she can't hear what needs to be said in this bus right now. She'll have to wait outside for that."

Monique dropped her head into a contrite, understanding pose, shot Ron a _very_ thankful look and turned, sliding out of the buses door.

"There's no time for any review," 'Redoubt' started, her tone and face once again turning to stone, "so here's where we're at." And with that, she held up a remote control device and pointed it at the big screen at the front of the bus under which the Possible's and Ron stood. They turned their heads/shoulders about as the screen lit and—

"Oh my God!" MrsDrP hissed, a hand coming up in front of her mouth.

"I think I need a new expression," Ron breathed as his eyes got the size of a large pizza. "Cause Sick and Wrong just don't match up to . . . that!"

Kim's face was pure, unadulterated speechless horror; her father's that of pure intent narrow-eyed scrutiny. After a moment, 'Redoubt' continued, "now you see what we face."

'Redoubt' clicked off the picture and turned to wave a hand at the dark-haired, bespectacled woman behind the dining table who was now clearly angry and anxious. "This is Doctor P.S. Yche. She was . . . in charge of development of . . . what was done to Mr. Lipsky when he was in the . . . mental health rehab facility."

They all turned about but the woman at the table turned red and hunched down her shoulders in a mad/stubborn pose when she saw the angry/disgusted rage blazing at her from the sapphire eyes of MrsDrP.

"Tell them," was 'Redoubts' hard-edged order.

The woman shook her head, her eyes, with fearful thoughts raging behind them, snapped back. "Not as long as she's (stabbing a finger at MrsDrP) here. I've heard about her. She'll find some way to get me sanctioned or my private civilian licenses revoked or _something_ because she's so _damn_ righteous when it comes to her precious ethics—"

'Redoubt' swung about, leaned in over the table right into the woman's face and snapped, "this is an ELE situation and I have a Code Zulu Zulu authorization and if you don't open that dammed mouth of yours right now, if we survive this, you wont need your licenses except to practice on your fellow inmates for the rest of your life!"

The woman's eyes blazed back at here. "So you say. But my section will protect me if I just keep my mouth shut so no deal."

"No they wont," said a voice like murderous ice. MrsDrP quietly slipped up next to 'Redoubt' and bent over the table as well. The woman reared back but the bench seat wouldn't let her get far enough away as Kim's mom got close enough to start whispering in the woman's ear—

In just a few moments, the woman was so pale and had such wide, unseeing eyes that it looked as if she was already dead—

MrsDrP then backed away from the table, but her eyes still holding those of the woman there, hers, round with fear and loathing, her mouth moving as if trying to speak but—

"You were saying _doctor_," MrsDrP prompted with as sarcastic a tone as was ever heard.

"L—L—Lipsky was programmed using an untried technique that I developed, a—a—an exotic mix of narcotics, behavioral modification—" ("otherwise known as shock therapy" MrsDrP growled) and forced hypnosis—"

"Explain that last part please," came another growl from Kim's mom.

The psychiatrist leaned back into the booth, her eyes closing as she took a deep, shaky breath, every indication in her body language that she was being forced into areas where she knew that she was digging her own grave.

"IF you please Doctor," came 'Redoubts' firm but neutral urging.

"It's a technique using a mind manipulation ray ("like the truth ray," muttered Kim) in conjunction with narcotics that overcomes any individuals resistance or inability to be subjected to hypnosis." The woman's head dropped down almost to the table and her voice _grated_ with the strain of what she was admitting. "But while it makes any . . . suggestion planted absolutely irresistible, only single 'suggestions' can be planted at any one time. So . . . for an entire behavior to be imputed or an existing one modified, each . . . 'letter' of the script; that being the desired behavior that is the end result, has to be entered, like typing a novel with only a single finger of one hand. It's a very time consuming process—"

"And what behavior," Kim asked, amazed that her voice was calm and level with none of the revulsion and nausea that currently filled her creeping into it, "did you program into Drakken?"

"The 'target' mind set that we were shooting for," and the woman's voice was now stone cold dead, "was the suppression of all of Lipsky's impulsiveness, his monumental ego and need for approval, recognition and reward, modification of his inability to multitask to his full potential and an increase to his ability to think 'outside of the box' by modifying his scientific prejudices and perceptions." As if she knew that she was signing her death warrant, Yche paused . . . "and finally, harnessing his rage, his sense of violation . . . so that there was a change in his compulsion from trying to take over the world . . . to destroying it."

MrDrP's eyes were almost squinting with his intense concentration. "And you achieved all of that?" he asked.

The woman looked up, pure and naked hatred flaming from her eyes. "I hope that all of you know that you're all in very big trouble as you are not on 'The List' of having access to this information. Not even," she hissed as she looked directly at 'Redoubt', "your Zulu Zulu gives you the right to this profile. I'm dead and so are all of you because of—"

"Just answer Doctor Possible's question." 'Redoubt' advised, with a voice so cold that it caused the woman to shudder.

The woman's head again dropped down to the table . . . she never again looked up. "I don't have a clue just how the reprogramming went."

Ron blinked and wondered, "but how—"

"It was you development and your technique," MrsDrP injected in a voice even colder than 'Redoubts'. "You wrote the script to be programmed into Drakken and authored the instructions on how it was implemented into him. You were never there, you never even saw him as a patient. There was a cutout in place should it fail or go sideways and that cutout would protect you." Kim's mom gave a disbelieving shake of her head. "It was strictly on the staff of the psych ward at that government prison he was being held at to implement it all." MrsDrP then looked over at 'Redoubt', "we need to talk to however was the primary psyche care person for Drakken when he was there. Because if what I think happened—"

'Redoubt' was looking at MrsDrP but then understanding dawned behind her eyes and her head snapped about to look again at the woman. "Shego got Drakken out before the programming was complete." She rounded onto the woman and demanded, "where was he in the process? What effect on him could it have—?"

"I don't know and I don't care," came the harsh reply.

"You better—" 'Redoubt' started, then stopped, her head jerking about to find a hand from Kim's mom on her shoulder. "Don't bother because she doesn't know," MrsDrP said tightly. "Her cutout was in place and it's working. Once she forwarded the 'finished program' to the prison psych ward—"

"She was out of the loop," 'Redoubt' finished, her eyes going back to the woman. There was a look as if 'Redoubt' _wanted_ to be disgusted . . . but she wasn't because she knew all too well herself just how this game was played. "No further contact, no progress reports." 'Redoubt' looked to one of the guards, then made a head nod toward the woman indicating that they were done with her. The guard collected the woman and took her out.

Once the door snapped closed behind her, 'Redoubt' started, "well, it just so happens that Drakken's . . . psych technician is on the way here," she glanced up at the wall clock, "should be here within a couple of hours if not sooner." 'Redoubt' then looked to Kim and Ron. "I don't know just how time-critical we are. We don't know if it's true, but the Diablo attack had all the earmarks of Drakken trying to goad us into an assault. He maybe becoming impatient." But then she glanced at Kim's parents, "but at the same time, I don't want you to go in until you're sure that you have everything you need."

Kim and Ron looked at each other—one could almost see the thoughts flowing between them. They then looked back to 'Redoubt', Kim as usual speaking for the both of them. "We don't see that we have much of a choice ma'am. We know that whatever he is right now, Drakken has to be more dangerous to this planet than he has ever been. And he's had too much time already." She looked back to Ron, their eyes meeting. "Shego is scared to death of him, that means we have to be as well. So we have to get in there and take him out before he can start—"

"Getting an increase in energy readings from inside of the building!" called one of the techs at a panel.

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Over in a corner of the 'secure' area set up by the Middleton Police Dept, sat a non-descript van, black with blacked out windows. It was _said_ to be containing special equipment, not to be brought out unless needed—

But in fact, inside sat the driver, working at a monitoring panel of his own. His panel registered the rise of energy from the target as well. A discrete satellite antenna connected him to a database at a secret location. That database compared the energy reading with a set list of numbers/statistics/ratios and flashed back an answer to the driver's panel.

As the returning information matched one of the situations on his list . . . and not having any idea, what he was about to implement, the driver picked up his ultra-extreme secure phone—

An important man answered the phone—

The driver gave a code word—

And the important man hung up the phone.

The driver went back to his monitoring—

The important man picked up another phone and gave an order . . . which now that it was a true reality, shook him to his very bones, but which his staunch determination and sense of responsibility allowed him to do anyway.

And at an Air Force Base in Idaho, a phone rang . . .

Middleton Colorado had sixty minutes—

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After standing and looking at the bus monitor panel where the energy change has been detected (but not comprehending) for a few moments, Kim pulled out the Kimmunicator.

"Wade! What is the sitch on you net here in town?"

The boy genius was all intent, typing with each hand on two separate keyboards. "I'm still in the dark for a good portion of the city. But I've made a special effort in the area you're in and I should be in synch shortly. And I see what it is you guys are looking at. Not quite sure as of yet just what—"

"Wade," MrDrP interrupted in from over Kim's shoulder. She shifted so he and Wade could see each other better as, "I assume since you're picking this effect up that you're a go for energy scans. Keep an eye on the one you're watching right now but at the same time, run one for," MrDrP then gave Wade a complex sounding group of terms and numbers that almost hurt Kim's ears.

"Yes sir," was Wades response as both hands went into a blur on a single board. After a moment, Wade looked surprised and then frowned.

"What is it Wade," Kim urged.

"I have traces of what you're looking for sir, sewn in what looks to me as a sensor web surrounding that warehouse (a depiction of which came up on the Kimmunicators screen, developing into 3D so they could see just how extensive it was). But from the main room of the warehouse, where Drakken himself seems to be sitting, I'm starting to get clarification on the energy source that is building in there. Something else entirely different."

"Whatever mad device he's built," Ron speculated.

"What kind of readings are you getting from it Wade," Kim's dad asked. Wade's reply was more gibberish—

But to her surprise, there were terms and keywords . . . that Kim understood, or that at least triggered some ghost memories in her. _Now why would I know something like that? _she wondered.

She never got a chance to go on with the thought as he dad was speaking. "Wade, I need to be able to monitor that sensor net and anything else that crops up."

"Wade," Kim broke in, "my dad needs another Kimmunicator so that the two of you can coordinate while Ron and I go in. How long before—"

"Would you like this back?"

And their heads all snapped back around to see 'Redoubt' holding a Kimmunicator out toward Kim who started to say, "how—?"

"This is the one that was taken from you by the FBI supervisor at your high school." Kim took it. "How did you get it back?" she asked as she handed it over to her father. "I know that supervisor overheard my talk with Wade on it . . . which now that I think about it is probably what led . . . whoever to find that Drakken was here?"

"That's what they tried to infer," 'Redoubt' said tightly. 'The supervisor wanted to take the credit as using your communications device as his intelligence source in finding Drakken." But 'Redoubt' was shaking her head as if debunking that theory. "The fact of the matter is, that one of the junior FBI agents who was debriefing all of you're classmates afterwards, saw a cellphone video that one of them took. You acquaintance Rockwaller got that Ethome girl to spill it all—"

_Oh my God!_ Kim felt a crashing wall of guilt going down inside her. _They saw and used the video of Bonnie getting Carla to confess to lead them here, to Drakken._ And then Kim's own mind went back to what she had seen on Marcella's boyfriends cell video the previous evening—remembered Carla's words— '_I set up a location where they could establish a base in town, one of the time-share warehouses that my father owns, right here in Middleton. The same one, just freshly rebuilt, from that weird army weapon thing that happened to Possible and Stoppable a year or so ago when they changed—_'

Kim's eyes then shot to another monitor, one that was watching the warehouse at the far end of the alley. "Ron!" she breathed in disbelief as the recognition came to her. "This is the same villain time-share that Drakken used when he had the neutronaliser!"

"The brain-switch thingy!" Ron cried cringing.

"And—" _and Bonnie is the one who got Carla, got her to talk, allowed us to find Drakken_ Kim thought, her stomach clenching/going sour as she did so.

Kim stood up straight, forcibly taking all other thoughts and forcing them _out_ of her mind—

"Come on Ron, all things considering, we should know how to find our way into this place!" Kim's eyes narrowed dangerously, even as her throat went dry and the sourness in her stomach threatened— "If my guess is right, Drakken will have left the front door unlocked for us again."

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Kim and Ron worked their way up alongside one of the other warehouses off the main alley, having elected not to make a direct approach. They had gotten about three quarters of the way—

They were in full mission mode, acting and reacting as if no time or troubles had passed. It was a comfort and a reward to the both of them that they could, after so long, come back together seamlessly with Kim focused ahead of them, watching for traps and picking their best route, Ron just off her shoulder with his head on a swivel, trying to look in all directions at once, watching his girls back—

And with his attention moving so rapidly, he almost missed—but then his attention snapped back to—

"KKKKiiiiiiiimmmmmmm!!!!!!" Ron managed to make his terrified squeal no louder than a whisper—

Kim's head jerked around—

A pair of Diablo's were coming out from under the trash dumpster across the alley. Kim's attention came around expecting—

Three more from somewhere behind them—

Rufus jumped off of Ron's shoulder and assumed a martial arts stance facing the nearest ones but still—

_Dadddddddyyyyyyy, _Kim mentally hollered.

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"Sir!" Wade cried as the cybertonic frequencies peaked; his own memories of how his Diablo had ripped though his room coming back to him.

"No sweat!" MrDrP growled as he typed into the laptop he had brought. "Wade, rebroadcast these lines of computer code as I type them through the cybertonic transmitter at the Space Center."

"On it!" shot back the boy genius to the man genius.

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The little devils were within feet of them and Kim was just reaching into her holster for her grappler-hairdryer to get both her, Rufus and her boyfriend OUT when the Diablo's suddenly started to spin about like tops.

Faster and faster until they literally blurred. Then with the frying/snapping of burning components, they abruptly died into inert, smoking piles of plastic. Rufus ran over and give one a sniff, then turned back giving a 'thumbs up' to his two persons.

"Ohhhhhhh, sick and—" Ron started.

"Not so the drama Ron," Kim replied, not allowing herself to show just how close she had been to losing it as Rufus scampered back over. "Dad and Wade have our backs. Lets go."

With a whimper, Ron again started to follow Kim along, muttering, "as I said—"

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A single, loud whistle sounded in the room. The Figure, still huddled in the chair, seemed to draw even more inward, seemed to shrink even further into itself, as if it was being eaten from within.

She! He! They! were here. The time was at hand. Everything was ready and all that was needed was for everything to come into place.

And then . . . they would ALL be . . . all that!

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Monique and MrsDrP stood side by side just outside of the Police CP vehicle, grim faced, arms crossed, looking down the long alley at the warehouse. Monique's insides were so tight and knotted over so many things that she was boarding on despair. She knew that she really had no business being there, but she also knew that for some reason she _had_ to be there. And after so long of so much of not having any control of her life, she could not refuse to heed that feeling.

MrsDrP was trying not to think at all. Deep inside she knew that she knew too much, knew by far, too many scenarios and possibilities for her own comfort and control. So she was just trying to blank her mind and wait, as she had been taught all those years ago in advanced stalking and evasion training. But even that wasn't helping much, for in that training, lurked the fact that you were patiently waiting, in thoughtless mediation, for your target to come along so that you could kill it—and right now, she could definitely do without that analogy.

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As had been predicted, the front door was unlocked.

Kim moved silently through it, reflecting in some bizarre way that it felt different to enter this building via this entrance while being in her own body. It was a deja vu with a twist . . . or twisted depending on ones outlook.

But right now they were looking for something/someone most definitely twisted. Kim felt Ron behind her, trembling for sure but that in itself was reassuring to her. Despite the fact that they had been in it for several minutes now, for the first time her thoughts and reflections hit on how it had been so long since they had been in mission mode together that it felt like another example of lost self recovered—and that in and of itself she found to be very reassuring.

Because right now, she needed all the reassuring she could get. Kim was use to facing villains and their strange, evil, dangerous beasts and devices. But deep inside her, Kim knew that a part of her was shuddering at the view of Drakken they had been shown. If she didn't have Ron to watch her back, she wasn't sure that she could have forced herself—

Kim pulled herself back upright against one of the stacks of unknown 'stuff' that was in storage. Directly in front of them was one of the burnt out probe robots, one of several that they had already passed. Memory told her that they were close to the main area. But unlike their previous visit, the interior was dark and very foreboding. There was a glimmer of gray light ahead of them—

There was nothing but to go for it—

"Well, Ron," Kim said after taking a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Are you kidding?" Ron replied in a trembling voice. "The Ronster was born ready . . . I've just never been sure for what."

"Yeah—what!" added in Rufus who had been down on his own on the floor ready to move if required.

Without turning her head, Kim's hand came back and grabbed Ron _hard_ by the collar, dragging him to her as she swiveled her torso to him, a look so predatory on her face that Ron lost his fear of everything else at that moment.

"I know what you were born to do Ronster," Kim breathed at him in a voice so husky he almost didn't recognize it. Kim's eyes fell to a heavy lidded look that almost stopped Ron's heart. "So be careful and be safe my love, cause that day IS coming."

Ron's brain was trying to get back into gear and all it could manage was, "Kim, get your head in the game. Now is not the time—"

Kim released him and turned back away. "Now is exactly the time and my head is in the game Ron. That was just something that I had to say—" and then she faltered.

_She's feeling fear_ Ron realized. _Considering everything we know now about Drakken—_

"Got your back KP," and that was all Ron could say.

"You always will," and that was all Kim could say.

Together, they moved down—

And gingerly into the main room—

And as the control booth/seat came into view on their left—

And as they saw it, as they continued to move into the room because they _had_ too, the horror of it was drawing them like a magnet . . . . . .

. . . . . . and more of it became visible; they saw more and more of what was waiting for them . . . while not believing that they were really seeing it—

Rufus said it for them—"oh ++++!"


	37. Game Opening

It was funny to Kim Possible about how only certain details registered to her. The fact that what was physically before her was a thousand times more horrible than the image that she had been shown by the bus monitor—but she realized it was because she could see the _details_—

She was aware that her boyfriend had literally fallen to his knees behind her, making strange gurgling noises, but her concentration; her focus was on what was before her . . . not because she wanted it to. The exact opposite was the truth . . . for she could NOT tear her eyes away—

And it was the details; the matted, crazy _insane_ hair that encompassed his entire head and reminded her of cartoon caricatures she had looked at in history class of mad European anarchists. His exposed skin, so much of it visible due to the shredded clothing that hung uncaringly from him. That skin, almost _gray_ where it could be seen under the dirt, filth and blood—for there were wounds too numerous to count, probably from sharp edges and corners, all uncared for, many infected and festering—

But it was the drawn features that were only hinted at under the mob of hair—even more emaciated than Monique or even Felix, with eyes so sunken back into the skull—

Eyes that held—

Kim couldn't even force a swallow when her eyes met those—

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Inside the body of He Who was once Drew Lipsky/Doctor Drakken, a feral intelligence looked out at those of whom he had been waiting soo long, an emotion akin to vindication exploding throughout him. Without word or gesture, the hand resting on the right control box slid over and pressed the third button—

And then he _screamed_ silently to himself—revenge—fulfillment—the glorious realization that a plan that had _finally_ reached its completion—

And self-fulfillment realized by the looks of The Two—those who were ALL THAT! THEY now knew the truth! They had seen in him, everything they needed to know—

THIS WAS THE MOMENT—LONG PLANNED! HE HAS BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG. HE HAD DENIED ENTERENCE TO ALL OTHERS, BUT MADE IT EASY FOR THESE TWO TO ENTER SO THAT THEY WOULD BE THE **FIRST TO KNOW** about the _**END**_!

_**THEY—HIS SPECIAL FRIENDS/FOES—WOULD BE THE FIRST TO UNDERSTAND AND REALIZE—**_

And the horror and understanding on the Those Two's faces **told him** that _**THEY KNEW THAT HE HAD WON!**_

He screamed . . . ALOUD!

An inhuman scream of rage and triumph—

Then—He Who was once Drew Lipsky/Doctor Drakken collapsed down into the chair, mission completed—

While He Who WAS Drew Lipsky/Doctor Drakken—freed at last from his bondage deep deep inside, screamed a human scream to himself within the shattered psych that existed inside the shattered body and he tried to fight his way back to the surface against that body which was rapidly shutting down—

Drew knew he had only moments—

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At the moment of the scream, Kim had dropped into an instant fighting stance, a reaction of pure instinct . . . because all she really wanted to do was turn around and run—

Ron had started to do his mad-running-skills, but then realized . . . where could he run too? So he turned back about, steeled himself for—

Then the HORROR in the chair collapsed like a popped balloon. The couple stared for maybe half a second—

Their heads then flicked to each other . . . disbelief/denial/disorientation flashed like a radio beam between them—

Their heads turned back to the collapsed form—

Ron felt as if his usual self-congratulator dance/verbal Booya wanted to well up inside him . . . but it didn't because after all the buildup . . . this couldn't be all there was—

Kim felt . . . amazed . . . relieved . . . SCARED . . . because it was almost as if the . . . thing before them had suicided after doing a bellow of victory—and she didn't even want to think what _that_ might mean.

"I—I—is he . . . d—d—dead?" Ron managed to shutter out.

"I—I don't know," Kim managed in reply, her face going totally grossed out when the thought occurred to her that she should reach in to . . . it? him? whatever it was? to check for a pulse.

Then the two teens rightly jumped clear off the floor as the towering device over to their right with the huge coil atop of it, suddenly burst into a Christmas tree of colored lights and emitted a deep, throbbing but ominously growing 'hummm'. The coil itself started to sputter and snap with electrical discharge—

The two teens eyes again met, wide-eyed . . . wide-mouthed—

But in moments—

Kim and Ron both felt their karma's, shocked out of kilter by the physical encounter with Drakken 'snap' back into place. Shooting a glance at the now collapsed form in the chair and fervently hoping that it wasn't an imminent threat, Kim already had her Kimmunicator in her hand—

"Wade!" she started—

"Working on it," came the response as her young friends fingers moved faster than sight. "But it may take a while. This is a total unknown above and beyond the other energy that was first present so we have to start from scratch and I don't have access to a lot of my information sources! What's going on with Drakken?"

Kim swallowed against her nausea brought on by the question as she glanced back at the horrible form. "I—I think . . . but I really don't know Wade. He just—" she didn't even want to finish the sentence.

"I'm getting only minimal life signs Kim," Wade said trying to sound reassuring. "So unless he's . . . got an outside source or device to spark him back up—"

"Don't even _say_ that Wade," Ron managed with shivers in his voice. "He's already worse than Frankenstein. We don't need to add any additional mental pictures—"

"Whatever is in there with you is drawing so much power," Wade suddenly changed the subject (and sounded grateful for it), "that parts of the city are starting to go dark. Scan it with the Kimmunicator."

Kim waved her Kimmunicator across the device, a grimace coming to her face as both the noise and the static electricity in the air around it grew.

Wade was looking into one of his side screens and after a moment, started shaking his head. "Not a clue," he muttered. His attention came back up to Kim, "I'm going to route this to your dad and those I know at the Science Institute and see if they can help."

"As fast as you can Wade please and thank you." Kim finished. When she lowered her Kimmunicator, she looked back and forth from the figure that use to be Drakken to the machine. Ron had his fingers in his ears against the noise; Kim could feel her hair starting to stand away from her body. What she wished she had right now was the old Drakken, ranting to the moon and above, laying out every detail of his plan and the devices abilities—

At that moment, the lighting about the coil, started to whip around it as if caught up in a tornado. It flashed brighter and now they had to guard their eyes as they did their ears . . . Kim's hair was starting to puff out like a dandelion . . . even Ron's was on end—

Then . . . there was a loud SNAP!

And while all the devices lights and telltales stayed lit up brighter than downtown Tokyo . . . there was a puff of black smoke from the very air around the coil . . . and all the lightning/electricity in the air about them. . . went away—

And all the sound from it died.

Kim and Ron's eyes were locked on the big device, waiting for . . . whatever was—next—

But . . . nothing happened.

No . . . that wasn't quite right. Kim squinted her eyes . . . yes she could just barely see it . . . as the edges of the device were just starting to emit . . . what her eyes could only interpret as a 'black' glow.

And with barely perceptible speed, it was slowly expanding out away from the device into the room.

Again the two teens exchanged looks. By then, the cloud of smoke had drifted over them, sending Ron's hand flying as he sneezed and snorted—

Kim knew the smell well thanks to the Tweebs—

. . . . . . burnt out electrical wiring.

And incredulous look came over her face.

And the 'black' glow continued to slowly expand.

Everything in Kim shouted for her to do _something._

She turned, almost as an afterthought, gingerly keeping an eye on the collapsed figure in the chair, stepped carefully over to that figure, nose—face—all her senses screaming at the reek/aura about him. Kim looked at the panels on the chair arms . . .

And for a lack of anything else to do at the moment, tried pushing the buttons on the panel—

"Hey," called her shaking voiced boyfriend, "randomly pushing of buttons is my job!"

Kim flashed him a worried smile. "If it works for my boyfriend, I was hoping that it would kind of pass on to me."

"No go KP," Ron replied with an almost hysterical little chuckle, "us sidekicks have to protect our territory from you hero types."

"This hero type," Kim growled at him as she came away from the figure and over to stand next to him and they both looked at the device—and the ever growing 'black' glow around it, "may be forced to forcibly remind you that you are no longer 'my sidekick', but my partner—" and she put a hand into Ron's, both of them needing the loving contact in this moment.

Kim's eyes then locked on the control panel on the device itself—

"So partner, in your professional button-pusher opinion, which button _do_ I push on it to shut this thing off?"

She felt Ron swallow _hard_ . . . before he managed to say, "the one marked 'off'?"

Kim gave Ron's hand a hard squeeze—then walked away from him toward the device, her eyes locked on the front panel which had several prominent controls—

The Kimmunicator was in her hand again—"a little help here Wade? What is this . . . weird glow and is it dangerous?"

"Kim??" and she was startled by the surprise and sudden worry in the young boys voice, "what are you talking about? I was about to call you back because we all thought you had managed to turn the device off already."

Kim stopped dead in her tracks and managed a, "what?!? Wade why—?"

"Because," he friend told her in an abstract tone as he feverishly worked at his controls, "in the last minute or so, the power going into that building, which as of those same minutes ago had almost totally blacked out Middleton, has dropped off to nothing, zip! _And_ neither I, nor the Global Justice or Government sensors are now picking up _anything_ inside other that your presence. We all thought that you—"

"Wade," Kim managed to keep her voice under control, but fear and disbelief were lurking at the corners of—, "this thing is lit up with more colored lights than what the Tweebs hang on our house at Christmas, and . . . and there's this really, _really_ weird glow coming out of it—"

"Kim," and Wade sounded _really_ worried, "we're not getting _any_ of that."

Kim studied the device and the glow for a minute, noticing now that the 'glow' was now expanding out in 'pulses' instead of a steady rate. She reached a decision.

"Well, if there's nothing there . . . maybe there really _isn't_ anything there. Maybe Drakken blew it again and what I'm seeing is a byproduct left over from this thing going around the bend. There was a pop and a cloud of smoke that smelled like one of Jim and Tim's experiments blowing up."

"Kim," called Ron in horror, "you're not thinking of—"

"We have to make sure," Kim stated with far more assurance than she felt. "Wade, keep an extra close watch on this thing. If anything changes when I get up to it—"

"Good luck," was the only thing that Wade could say.

"Kim?!?" Ron managed although he sounded choked—

"Not so the drama Ron," was her reply, her tone mocking her own internal hesitation. "Lets get this finished so that we can at last get on with our lives." And with that, Kim squared her shoulders and walked into the 'glow'.

And it was like she had walked into the softest, smoothest, most comfortable bed she could ever imagine. In less than a moment, her eyes closed and she felt herself fall into the deepest, most desirable sleep she would ever know.

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"KIMMM!!!!!!!!" Ron screamed at the absolute top of his voice as his girlfriend suddenly collapsed like a puppet with all its strings cut at once.

With a pure spinal/knee-jerk reaction, Ron came off the blocks like a sprinter—

And skidded to a screeching halt as the field of the glow suddenly pulsed out like an onrushing wave. Ron felt the sleep envelope him, felt himself surrendering to it—

And then felt the sequence of impacts going up his body as he fell backwards, falling out of the field . . . or at least his top half . . . eyes going starry as he _'cracked'_ the back of his head hard on the concrete floor—

But he fought desperately to retain consciousness, assisted by the tearing panic within him as he realized that his legs below the knees were still in the glow . . . and they were so totally numb that it was as if they'd been cut off—

Ron rolled over and frantically clawed at the floor, dragging himself out of the field, feeling the 'life' come back into his legs/feet as he pulled them clear of the glow.

Ron scrambled to his feet, terrified relief flooding through him as he realized that other than intense 'tingling' like that of a limb that had had its blood cut off and had 'gone to sleep' and was now coming back—he seemed to be whole and operational.

But Kim! She was totally inside the thing—unreachable due to the expanding pulse—and what the glow field had done to him in the moments he had been in it—

Kim was dieing!

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"Wade!" MrDrP shouted in alarm.

"I know," the youth shot back, both of them realizing that Kim had totally and completely dropped off their sensors.

The father didn't wait for answers. He was out of the chair, out of the bus, running as hard as he could—

_Kimmy-cub!_

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Ron frantically looked around. There was no way he could get to Kim without losing himself to the field but there didn't seem to be anything about that would _help_! With a sudden burst of frustrated rage, he grabbed a wrench off of a table and threw it at the device—

It smashed one of the colored lights but did no other damage.

Then Rufus was climbing up him, chittering like mad! Ron grabbed himself and brought all his focus onto his littlest buddy—

Rufus was pointing down—

Ron saw that the little guy had dragged the end of a spoil of light rope over and was making gestures—

Ron glanced at the rope, his little friend, and the inert body of his girlfriend and he understood—

But—

"Will you be able to hang on?" Ron asked Rufus with sudden new fear, "I don't want to lose you too."

Rufus responded by grabbing Ron's head with both hands and growling—

In moments, Ron had tied a halter around his friends body/shoulders, gathered the necessary slack in the rope . . . and with the Naked Mole Rat molding himself to the shape of a dart—Ron threw him—

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Monique and MrsDrP looked over startled as a male figure hurtled by them, going through the police line behind the armored vehicles—

And it wasn't until them that they realized just who the figure—

"Jim?" MrsDrP called aloud in sudden horror and understanding. She stared for a moment, then gathered herself—

But Monique was already off, sprinting like an antelope, rapidly catching and passing MrsDrP's husband—

And the Rock of the Possible Household, restrained her impulse to follow—as she was the only one not committed at the moment, she knew she had to stay in reserve—

Even as she prayed fiercely that she wouldn't be needed . . . in any of her capacities.

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Ron Stoppable didn't have to hold his breath. He was so scared at this moment that he had stopped breathing. Unbelievably, his toss of his best friend had been right on target, his buddy landing right in the center of his girlfriends back. Now Ron was carefully pulling on the rope, hoping against hope—

Then the rope went taunt . . . and Ron tired to believe what his eyes told him. In the moment before he had entered the glow field, Rufus had opened his jaws wide and had locked them through Mystical Monkey Power muscle control leaving—

And to Ron, despite the distance and angle, it looked like Rufus's large front teeth had in fact hooked into Kim's utility belt—

But could his friend's body stand the stress of dragging Kim's body back across the floor?

Ron knew there wasn't time to dither about it. He had no idea how much time had passed since Kim had gone down and whatever it was, it was running out. Ron set his 'serious face' grimly and started to pull on the line.

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Monique had hit the door of the warehouse running and didn't even slow down as she went through. The wreckages of the probe robots, what looked like blood stains around were it looked as if there had been explosions, none of it mattered to her—

All that mattered was that she was at last _doing something_! Striking back at a world, a universe that had, and was still, striving to wreak and destroy everything and everybody she loved—

And had almost destroyed her . . . by caging and controlling her. The heady sense of freedom as she had ran right through the line of cops that had been yelling at Kim's dad to come back, the intoxicating thrill of passing MrDrP and leaping into the lead—even though she didn't have a clue of what it was that he was running to or what _she_ would be facing when she got there—

Monique knew that she could die in moments . . . and it didn't matter, for she had taken charge of her life again!

Monique practically jumped into the main area and skidded to a stop—her eyes taking everything in in a moment—

And making her next decision, she leapt forward.

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Ron was sitting on his butt with his legs spread wide to anchor himself, but the tears of frustration were coursing down his cheeks—

He's gotten Kim across more than half the distance . . . a distance that kept increasing even as he pulled her . . . but her body was twisting about as the tugging on her utility belt pulled it farther down her hips, it was slipping, endangering the tenuous hold that Rufus's teeth had on it—

Then Ron almost literally jumped out of his skin as something screaming what sounded like the Middleton Mad Dogs battle cry leaped over him—

Ron's jaw dropped as he realized that Monique had intentionally jumped into the glow field and—

Ron exploded to his feet, thrusting all hesitation and thought aside when he realized just what it was that Monique had done. He reached in—

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James Possible wanted to slow down and carefully check before he plunged into the warehouse but something told him that there wasn't time. So as heedless as the young girl before him, he raced into the darkness inside and was in moments—

What he found dropped his jaw. A machine surrounded by what could only be a quasi-folded flux field of unknown properties—

And deep inside it, was the unmoving body of his daughter—

But also inside it, stretching in from the edge was the body of his daughter's best girlfriend, who looked as if she had a death grip on his daughter's ankles—

And pulling Monique by _her_ ankles, at the very edge of the field, was her daughters boyfriend and partner, steadily pulling the two girls backwards toward safety—

And then the flux field pulsed—expanding outward, engulfing the top half of Ron Stoppable, whose head dropped, forehead impacting with a sharp crack to the floor—

But Ron had somehow managed to maintain his grip on Monique—

Instantly Jim Possible had Ron by his ankles, trying with all his might to pull the absolutely _dead_ weight of _three_ teens without jerking hard enough to break the fragile grips that connected them together.

_Easy now Jim_, he said to himself. _Just like working on an uber-complex quantum cross-relativity equation. A little at a time, not biting off too big a piece at once._

With his concentration focused, like always when in this mode, everything else faded out—

Then he snapped back to reality when the ankles/legs in his hands suddenly started to kick violently. James released then, humping himself up and over to grab Ron by his utility belt and violently jerk the boy backwards. Ron flew past him and James was at the edge of the field, thrusting his hands in to grip Monique, mind analyzing as he felt his hands/forearms go completely dead—but the muscle groups responded to their last commands, and James again started a steady sooth pull, mentally calculating in his mind the probability of the next field expansion—

And just as he got Monique out to above her hips, James released and rolled back as the field expanded again. He noted that the expansion was less than the prior one, only going as far as Monique's calves, he noted the clue and again started to grip and—

But then there was a second pair of hands and they shifted, James with one leg, a blearily eyed Ron with the other. In seconds they had Monique clear and James grabbed her and pulled her back out of the way, knowing that Ron would at this point fight him to be the one to pull out Kim—

Ron gasped as he actually physically grabbed his girlfriend and like trying to pull a body from a frozen lake—Ron got Kim clear to her shoulders, snatching Rufus off of her belt and dropping him into a cargo pocket. Ron then stretched forward to finish—

"Ron BACK!" MrDrP ordered and Ron reversed gears, throwing himself rearwards as the glow field, as if it was fighting to retain its prey, pulsed out again, engulfing Kim to her hips—

"ENOUGH DAMN YOU! YOU CAN'T HAVE HER!" Ron roared, grabbing Kim's feet and with a lurching backwards half-fall, pulling her all the way out of the field.

MrDrP was half standing, in the process of picking Monique, who was already making groggy movements, up. "Get back Ron. Get at least ten feet between you and the interface." Ron, still weak and disoriented (as well as more than a little nauseated) drug both himself and his girl back as far as he could. MrDrP was able to retreat all the way across the room with Monique, setting her down on a piece of rug. He said some kind words to her as she was nearing full consciousness, muttering and bringing a hand up to rub her aching head. MrDrP gathered himself and started to stand, intending to go and help Ron with Kim—

Only to find that he had set Monique down directly in front of where Drakken sat. As with his daughter, the horror of it jolted and froze him for a moment—

And horror turned into near terror as the figure in the chair stirred—enough to lift its head enough to—

MrDrP's heart was in his mouth as a single eye met his—and a flash of recognition passed through it—and a voice almost too tortured to be human . . . emitted from the figure.

"J—J—James . . . . . . before its too late—"

But James Possible could still recognize the voice. "Drew?" he managed despite his disbelief.

The figure in the chair turned its head just slightly, and the hand, the fingers on the right panel over the three buttons twisted as well. James looked in the direction—

On the counter, just out of reach from the chair . . . . was an open but dormant laptop.

"There—" the voice said again. "Use it . . . before it is too late."

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Ron was ready to explode once again, but this time into a rage of anguish and despair—

Kim hadn't moved.

Spooning into her from behind, Ron tired to wrap himself around her, tired to drag her into him—

He closed his eyes and started to go into the trance—knowing with his current level of energy, with what little he had managed to recover plus whatever had been given to him by Sensei, Rufus and the other, most of which had been robbed from him by whatever the glow field did—

He knew it would either bring her back—

Or it would kill the both of them.

Then Ron heard Kim's voice in his head—

'_and if you _**EVER**_ do that again Ron Stoppable to the extreme that you did it for Bonnie, where it endangers you're life to the extent that it apparently did—_**and you better not cross that line even if its to save me!**_**—**__'_

Ron was going to disobey his love—

But that was okay, cause he couldn't live without her.

Then—with a suddenness like the kicking in of a self start switch, Ron felt Kim's lungs expand—and as he watched, the color of her skin started to come back as blood once again flowed—

Now the next worry came to him . . . had they been in time?

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Anne Possible was ready to resurrect a childhood habit . . . biting her fingernails, when figures were abruptly visible coming out of the warehouse door. The police/SWAT teams reacted as was expected, shifting positions and—

One of them, went out and 'recovered' the incoming group, which was moving slowly under its burdens. Anne could clearly see that Kim was draped over Ron's shoulder. And she saw that Ron was having a lot of trouble walking straight. He was half supported and guided by Monique who moved along side of him, but who seemed to be having trouble walking as well. And being that she was burden less other that something she was carrying in one hand, Anne had to believe that something had—

Anne also could not tell initially just what it was that her husband was laboring under in a fireman's carry, but as it was offloaded to a couple of SWAT officers, Anne realized just what, or maybe (just maybe) who it was. They came in a little faster now, although Ron was apparently refusing to hand off Kim, he had at least steadying help from fresh, un-fatigued people. Anne moved to the side of the warehouse at the mouth of the alley, where paramedics were already wheeling up their gear. A glance and head nods established that she was in charge—

Now all she could do was pray some more.

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'Redoubt' maintained her pose of infinite patience and detachment as was required by her position and authority. She had no idea at this point of just exactly was going on—

But her gut instinct told her that it wasn't good.

Doctor James Possible came back into the bus, stopping for a moment under the gaze of 'Redoubt', before going back over to where he had been working. The second Kimmunicator waited there, an anxious looking young man looking out of it.

"Wade."

"Sir," was the boy's polite response. He knew that his friend Kim was alive as she had 'reappeared' on his sensors. Other than that—

MrDrP held up the other Kimmunicator which he had recovered from his daughter. "Check this Wade."

The boy's eyes widened in recognition, with a slight side blush when he realized that he had forgotten or missed that the device held by Kim's dad had failed to 'reappear' at the same time Kim had. With the sensors of the one of the table, Wade scanned the one in MrDrP's hand. Wades eyes then grew large.

"Dead. Completely dead! Not a single amp of power—" Wade looked out of the screen as Kim's dad. "That shouldn't be possiblllll," he then amended, flushing a little more under MrDrP's gaze, "at least, not that quickly or completely."

"That's what I thought," MrDrP acknowledged gently as he set the dead Kimmunicator off to the side. He now brought up what he had in his other hand, an unfamiliar laptop, brought out of the warehouse by his daughters best girlfriend, and placed it to the side of his workstation, saying to Wade and the world at large as he did so, "now lets just see what we have here."

He opened the laptop—and then his eyes narrowed/face frowned as it automatically rebooted—

"Sir," Wade asked.

"Scan this Wade. Is it about to blow up on me?"

Needless to say that statement brought startled looks and some shifting feet from the other operators in the bus.

"Not that I can tell sir." Wade replied after a moment. "It does . . . it seems to be launching preloaded software of some kind."

"Keep an eye on it Wade," MrDrP admonished without his eyes leaving the screen.

And in the bus, the interior lighting brought down to facilitate the viewing of the monitors, it was possible to see, that, despite the fact that a media player suddenly came up and launched, and, "its playing a video file sir," Wade advised. Before MrDrP could query further, Wade continued with, "and that _is_ video that you're seeing. But it's like it was taken in a blacked out room."

MrDrP's frown deepened. "Why would—" he started . . . then stopped abruptly as a voice, a tortured souls words, came out of the small speakers—

"I . . . Me . . . the real . . . I don't want this . . . this way. I—I'm angry . . . . . . yes . . . very very angry over how they abused me – . . . how they _raped_ me (something like a tearing sob ripped out of the speakers causing several to flinch) . . . but not the world . . . not the whole world . . . my mother . . . Shego . . . my friends at karaoke night . . . "

There was a long—_long_ moment of quiet with maybe only a background grunt or sob to be heard.

"The compulsion is impossible to fight. I am only me now because of the pain I have inflicted on myself . . . . . . it allows my conscious to clear just long enough—"

Another rasping breath . . .

"I hope I have left enough on this laptop to allow you to defeat me." There was a gasp full of pain followed by a long, drawn out whimper—

"Kim, Ron, —Defeat Me. Be all that you are. The world needs you to be . . . . . . "

"I didn't want it to happen . . . . . . this way."

And the player ended.

And after a moment, MrDrP took a shuddering breath all his own. He then glanced back over his shoulder to see 'Redoubt' standing there, pale—shaken.

James Possible then turned back to the laptop and the Kimmunicator beside it. "You there Wade?"

"Y—yes sir," was the subdued reply.

"Start a search of this things hard disk. We're looking for files containing—"

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The Strike Eagle was in the air. Middleton Colorado had thirty-five minutes

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A/N: Thanks all again for reading. May try to get one more chapter out before I leave on vacation. Wrench in the works thou because of just discovered credit card fraud (oh, don't we hate the real world) that is sucking up way to much time.

So, if I don't post again, it will be about two weeks. We'll see.

I as always, will remain

Your humble and devout servant

The Wise Duck


	38. Middlegame

"Kim?"

"Another five minutes mom, I was sleeping so good—"

"Kim honey, you weren't sleeping at all."

_That_ cause the teen hero to stir, an activity with aroused her even more because—

_I have my mission clothes on? What would I be doing in my bed with them on? And if I'm on a mission, why would my mom be here? I should be sleeping with Ron—which we haven't done in all too long and which I miss soooo bad._

_Has something happened to Ron???_ And that forced Kim to fight her way up through the folds of cotton which were holding her—

And that in turn made her fight harder for she realized that something had happened to her, this wasn't normal sleep for her . . . and if something had happened to her, something had to have happened to Ron for him not to be there as well—

Kim came awake and tried to sit up, only to be blasted back down by the power of a headache of an unbelievable migraine proportions which immediately blinded her and almost made her throw up.

"Mommy," Kim whimpered when she was sure that she wasn't going to hurl. She hadn't experienced pain like this since she had broken her collarbone trying to do forward flips off of the jungle gym in kindergarten (some kid had ran through her landing point just as she started her release).

"It's okay honey," Kim heard her mom say and she felt a pain in her arm like that of a shot going in (but which next to what was in her head, felt nearly like a flea bite). "Let this work a minute—"

"Mom?" Kim forced herself despite just how _awful_ she felt—"Ron—?" she managed for she was putting into it all the urgency she could gather.

"He's fine honey. In fact he's better than you are in most ways but he's got a nasty bump on both the front and back of his head and there might be a concussion. He's resting over in the next ambulance; not a happy camper by the way because he wants to be with you but _I _don't want him walking right now. By any measure you're lucky that he didn't drop you coming out of that building."

Kim felt herself relax as that immense weight was lifted off of her, _Ron would die before he dropped me_ she thought. _Even though_ she had to say to herself, _that I 'tried' to drop him and he wouldn't accept that either. No, _she managed a faint smile, _he would never drop me._ And that she already was experiencing an immediate relief in her head as she relaxed and calmed down, the massive throbbing pain ebbing to only a miserably heavy ache.

And with that, it all started coming back to her.

Kim brought a hand up to her smarting head, biting her lower lip as she did so as—

"Mom, does anybody know what happened to me?"

Kim felt her mom's gentle hand on one of her arms. "Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember," Kim started then paused as a wave of pain/nausea flowed through her. After a moment, "I remember starting to walk into that weird glow—." Kim broke off and took a shuddering breath. "I take it that that was a mucho stupedo thing to do?"

She heard her mom snort. "Understatement city," came the half amused/half tweaked reply. "Although considering that you managed to survive it, with a little bit of help, I hope that this little incident recalls your apparently absent common sense."

Kim didn't argue the matter because her mom was soooo obviously right. "Ron got me out," and Kim said it as a statement rather than a question.

"Ron," her mom continued for her, "and Rufus and Monique and your father—"

"Oh my God!" Kim gasped forcing her eyes open, looking up into her mother's concerned but loving face. "What happened to me? What happened with the machine?"

After her mom had filled her in with what she knew, Kim lay quietly, a cold cloth now on her forehead. There was an . . . unreadable look on her daughter's face. Anne ventured to see if her hunch on its origins was correct. "So . . . was seeing Drakken worse in person than—"

Her daughter's eyes closed again and a wave of paleness swept over her. Kim had to take several swallows before even attempting—"he was—I—there's no way to describe—"

"I know," her mother answered her gently. "I've seen him."

Kim's eyes came open again but . . . there was a wary look to them—

"Drakken talked to your father, maybe got a clue on how to how to stop the device." Now it was her mom's turn to take a hard deep breath. "There hasn't been a conscious response from him since that moment with your dad but—"

"He's alive?" Kim whispered in near horror. "But—"

"The body is alive . . . yes. As for the rest of it all honey, I don't have a clue," her mom answered gently as she checked her daughters all around vitals. As Anne was flicking the penlight in Kim's eyes checking for pupil reaction—"but if I had to take a guess, based on what I was able to get out of Ron . . . I think that whatever it was that Drakken had been turned into . . . died. And now the real one is back . . . barely." And then Anne gave her daughter a deep look. "Although even that is iffy. Drakken has been transported by one of their air ambulances to the special Global Justice holding facility. Maybe he'll make it . . . depends on how much fight is left in him."

Kim's eyes left her mother and stared up at the ceiling of the ambulance for quite some time, memories and thoughts flowing over her features and through her eyes. When her mom thought it was time to bring her back—"How is it?" she asked, feeling the no longer cold cloth on her daughter's forehead.

Kim pulled it off and started to gather her arms under her. "Like three hundred of Monkey Fist's little monkey ninja's are playing massed trashcan lids between my ears. But I can function. I want to see Ron, and Rufus and Monique and I've got to see dad and find out what's going on."

Anne thought a moment about ordering her daughter back down—

But the crisis was still at hand and not going away—

And arguing with her daughter was the last thing Anne Possible wanted to do if it was in fact the last thing she was going to do.

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Ron lay on his back, a soundly sleeping mole rat on his chest, staring unseeingly at the ceiling of the ambulance, thoughts running around in his head like kittens chasing their tails—

_I almost lost Kim because I couldn't come up with a plan—Rufus did. I didn't even really rescue her, Monique almost sacrificed herself for Kim and MrDrP had to save ME and everybody else because I wasn't thinking. I had nothing! The only thing I did was throw a stupid wrench at the stupid thing and all _that_ did was break one light. Kim trusts me to have her back and I _blew it!_ I—_

Ron then started to jerk up when something touched him on the arm—

"Whoa there human-chain boy," came her voice to him, and he couldn't believe that it was flowing with love and concern—

Kim finished sliding into the bench seat beside him, the same love and concern radiating from her face as her hand continued up to carefully, tenderly, touch the knotted bruise in the center of Ron's forehead.

"You, know," Kim said in a suddenly low, sultry voice even as she bent in low over his prostrate form, "if you keep getting hurt like this, I'm gonna have to become your full time nurse . . . you know—shots in . . . interesting places and sponge baths and everything—"

Ron closed his eyes and groaned, turning his head slightly away—

"Ron?" Kim wondered, bringing herself back up, sounding hurt—

"KP," Ron was almost whispering— "I'm sorry—" he choked.

Kim blinked—perplexed. "Sorry," she repeated almost as quietly. "What are you sorry about?"

"The—I—you—Kim—your back—I didn't—" Ron flailed about with his words, unable to tell his girl just how he was feeling—

Then that soft hand cupped one cheek, and a soft, silky kiss graced the other one. And that was followed by a growl that almost frightened him out of his skin—

"Don't you for one single second think that you blew it Ron Stoppable—"

That same hand gently but irresistibly pulled his head over until his eyes were forced to look into a pair of blazing emerald ones—

Blazing with gratefulness and _INTENSE_ love—

"We've had fate deal us bad hands. How many times has Drakken or Dementor or even . . . God help us-Frugal Lucre captured us and put you or me or the both of us into some kind of 'death-trap'. Somehow or another, that same fate has always rescued us, be it my skill or your 'factor', or Rufus's smarts. We've both survived . . . " and Kim's eyes went misty as her voice choked up, "we've survived so much the last couple of months that there is no way that I believe that anything is going to happen now. And the reason WE survived those months is because of you love. And I will never forget that."

A gentle, heartfelt kiss followed—

A self-conscious cough at the rear doors of the ambulance interrupted it—

Both of Kim and Ron's heads snapped to see her mom and Monique standing at the doors, intentionally looking in anther direction with arms crossed and impatient looks on their faces. The two teens faces turned some interesting shades of red. Then Kim started to slide back toward the doors and Ron made a move to try and sit up—

"Flat on your back mister," MrsDrP advised him _very_ strongly as she turned into the pair at the moment Ron tired to move. "Right now, we are waiting for an exam location at a non-overwhelmed facility to be freed up so that we can send you there and they can check you out Ron. The combination of those cracks on your head in conjunction with going out from that weird field worries me to no end. You are _down_ until I am satisfied that you're alright."

Agony hit Ron's face. "But MrsDrP—"

Kim's mom put her hands on her hips. "No buts Ron. I'm speaking as your doctor and your future MOTHER . . . in-law."

"But mom," now it was Kim's turn, her fear of not having Ron to watch her back—

MrsDrP answered with just a _very_ firm and exaggerated shake of her head. Kim felt herself deflate in defeat. She turned while still sitting and held out a hand with Ron reached out and squeezed, saying softly too her, "I'm always with you KP."

_But you can't watch my back from here_ Kim grumbled to herself, not wanting to make it any worse for Ron. She slid all the way out, stepping to the side so that her mom could climb up and in—"your father is in the big bus," MrsDrP said as she did so. "I'll be over shortly. You had better get over there yourself to get an update."

Kim nodded then turned to the black girl standing in front of her. Monique's head was slightly lowered and there was both an uncomfortable look on her eyes and in her face—

Both of which were blown wide open when Kim suddenly stepped up and embraced her tightly.

"Thank you," Kim said into her Best Girlfriends ear—it was all that needed to be said, and the hard embrace that Monique gave back—

And to Monique, then meaning and depth of this hug would only be superseded by the one she would get from Felix _when_ he woke up. Monique knew all about fate and chance and the way things worked out—but she felt . . . she _knew_, that she was back. Because of Ron (whom she had already thanked) and the red-headed best-friend-in-the-world who was hugging her back, had thought enough about her to make sure that she was in a position, place and time that allowed her to do what she had to do—

Allowed her to become herself again—

And Monique wished that there was some way to let her friend know just how much—

But Kim would only say 'no big' and shrug it off—

Another reason why Monique loved her as the friend that no one else could ever be.

After the two of them broke apart, and with a glance and a little wave at Ron cowering under her mother's tender mercies, Kim with Monique started off for the bus. It was then that Kim noticed that Monique was limping slightly. "Are you okay," she asked, the concern plain. Monique actually laughed.

"Girl, now I know why you come back from all those missions black and blue and they aint from you and your man wrestlein." Monique pulled the neck of her top out and gazed down her front. "And it's a good thing I'm already black cause the blue is starting already."

Kim brought one hand up to the front of her mouth, not sure if she should chuckle or cringe. "What did you do?"

Monique allowed the collar of her top to snap closed—then she gave a little yelp with a 'that was a dumb thing to do' face followed by her tenderly rubbing—

"I was so totally targeted on your feet when I went into that field that I didn't give a thought to how I was gonna land. I cracked one knee real good—," as she spoke, she pressed the front of her chest again, wincing hard. "And I 'landed' right smack-dab on these poor girls—"

"Oh Monique," Kim gasped . . . and then kind of grinned. "I do soooo know exactly what your talking about," this time she did chuckle as she looked down at her own chest. "Believe me, I've done that particular form of self abuse toooooo many times for me to forget—"

It was Monique's turn to snort. "You've got less to hurt than I do."

Now Kim grinned. "Well, I would think that since your . . . shock absorbers as bigger than mine, that they would cushion your fall better."

Monique gave a single 'gwaffing' laugh which she covered with one hand before managing through her fingers, "girl! You are _terrible_."

_I can't say how much I've missed this Monique_ Kim thought as the two of them snickered through their hands while all the emergency personnel around them looked at them as if they had gone strange. _I can't tell you how much this is gonna help get me back to really being myself. Having Monique back to steady me and lighten me up . . . priceless! _Then Kim sobered, _all we have to do is survive this morning to get there,_ and a worried look came into her eye, _and I'm Ronless. _Not_ a good thing at a time like this._

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Half a continent away, an important man watched the clock on his desk flash through the minutes counting down. He had no regrets, no qualms about what he had done, but he also was not looking forward to the call he would have to make momentarily. He was required to 'report' prior to execution when taking an action this drastic. He was just waiting until the very last moment—

So that the inherently overcautious, weak-kneed, spineless, waffling, afraid to take decisive action _vote-grubbing politicians_ who were his bosses would do their normal dithering and hand-wringing and be unable to order him to abort the action.

Someone had to do the shitty jobs—

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Kim came into the bus and immediately headed for her dad. Monique hesitated behind her, afraid that she shouldn't be there and that she would enter and someone would notice her and arrest her—

Monique had sworn that she would never be caged again—

Then Kim glanced over her shoulder, saw her friend, recognized the dilemma and responded with a welcoming smile and an encouraging jerk of her head.

So Monique gingerly came in, feeling like she was walking on eggshells and ready to bolt as soon as one of the government people looked at her—

Kim held out a comforting hand which took her friend by the arm, "it's cool Mo, I've got your back if there's a problem." Monique looked far from convinced but she didn't argue.

Now that they moved in close to Kim's dad, they saw that he was in an animated conversation with Wade on the spare Kimmunicator and another scientist (who looked vaguely familiar to Kim) on his laptop. MrDrP came to a stop when Wade looked over his shoulder, causing him to—

"Kimmy," her dad said, relief, pride and soo many other emotions in his voice as he turned about and started to get up out of his chair to greet—

Only to be forced back into the chair with an 'ooof' as his daughter wrapped herself around him. The "thank you daddy," came in a little girl voice from his big girl as she squeezed him as hard as she had in years. MrDrP hugged her back, one hand stroking her hair—

"Aahhh," her dad managed after a minute, the two of them pulling back at the same time. "Kimmy," and her dad then waved one hand at the familiar scientist on the laptop screen, "I believe that you've met Professor Allenford."

A bell, again distracting, went off in the back of Kim's brain, but she shoved it aside as the Professor looked out at her, "Kimberly."

"Professor," Kim returned the greeting. She then looked between her dad and Wade, "have you guys figured out anything about what's going on and what happened to me?" Kim then . . . with a slightly guilty smile, looked at Monique and thought about Ron and Rufus—"I guess I should be fair and say, what happened to all of us—"

Her dad moved and patted a second laptop next to his, "well—" Her dad then brought Kim up to date on Drakken's laptop and how they had acquired it. Kim was left open mouthed but after a moment, was able to blink and plow ahead.

"So, do you have any answers?"

"No," her father said flatly. "Just a lot of questions."

"But," Kim cried, then turning to Wade via the Kimmunicator, "don't you know anything—?"

"Kim," Wade said gently, "we're dealing with something that none of us have any real comprehensive knowledge in. I was able to confirm that the Kimmunicator you were carrying was completely drained of power during the time you were in the field."

Kim sucked in a breath, awestruck considering what she knew about the power capability of the device. Her dad then tapped Drakken's laptop. "We were able to find complete schematics and specs of the device in this as well as the requisite and applicable notes, formulas, and specifications from Dr Vaultaslof's research—" and he had to break off at that point.

Kim made a prompting motion with her hands, "andddddddd-------" her voice died out as she realized, "no one—that's what you meant, none of you really understand what Vaultaslof's notes or plans mean."

Her dad gave a shrug. "That's not totally true. Each of us understands certain specific aspects of what is in here (he patted Drakken's laptop), but we don't have a complete enough grasp of all the factors to really understand what is going on, how it works and how it can be stopped."

"We believe Kimberly," Professor Allenford said to her from her dad's laptop, "that the field being admitted is some kind of 'dispersed negatively charged plasma'. Considering Dr Vaultaslof's listed research, it seems likely that he was working on something that would counter his 'creation of artificial life' in the form of syntho-plasma with something that could take that life force away."

Both Kim and Monique frowned as they tried to absorb this. It was Monique who gave voice to, "you mean, this thing is . . . some kind of death ray . . . but its not a ray so it would be . . . cloud?"

'Remember," MrDrP interjected with a raised finger, "that whatever it is that Dr Vaultaslof was working on, has been modified by Drakken in his psychotic state. So exactly what the good doctor was striving for, the bad doctor—"

"So," Kim said pointedly, trying to force the conversation on, "just exactly what does, or did it do?"

If it was possible for one 'real' set of eyes and two 'two dimensional' sets of eyes on flat view screens to look at each other uncomfortably—

"As Wade said," her dad began very seriously, "the battery on your Kimmunicator was drained flat in minutes . . . it did the same thing to you," and MrDrP's eyes skewed to Monique, "and you . . . and Ron and my own hands when they went into the field."

Kim, looked stunned as she turned the inference over in her mind and then—

"You mean . . . it drained the 'power', what—the life? out of me?" Kim felt . . . 'boggled'.

"We," Professor Allenford said warily, "are in disagreement with what actually it _does_ Kimberly. But the end result is as you describe it. Personally, I do not think it is a _draining_ of, for a better word, life energy, rather than a cessation, a shutting down of it."

"Death cloud," Monique said as if the subject was closed.

Professor Allenfords face screwed up at that. "It's not a cloud . . . we're calling it a field . . . but none of that is right. More like a . . . a disruption . . . or a riff in the continuum . . . "

Kim's jaw dropped as another old memory sprang up in the back of her brain. Why was she hearing, amid all the scientific babble . . . things that she recognized? Why were terms like 'riff in the continuum' sending warning bells through her gut? When would she have studied—?

MrDrP was just in the process of turning back to Allenford—"now Al, as I said, I saw no clear demarcation like a 'continuum rift' would normally have—"

Wade however staring out of his screen—"Kim . . . what is it?"

Every other head snapped around to see—

Kim's eyes were wide open . . . but they weren't seeing, one hand had come up to almost touch her lips . . . or lip for she was biting the lower one hard enough to turn it white—

"Kimmy?" her dad managed to keep it to a whisper as he had recognized his daughter in extreme thought mode—

Then Kim's head and hand snapped down as, "I _knew_ that things I was hearing in here were setting off all kinds of bells—" Her hand snapped back up from one of her utility belt pockets containing her . . . cellphone???

Kim had it open and was frantically flipping through menus mumbling, "please, please! I know I saved it—" then her face lit as she apparently found what she was seeking and she hit the 'call' button. Bringing the phone to her ear, her head snapped up, her eyes locking on—, "Wade! Contact the Middleton Police! We need them to escort, red lights and sirens to here from an address I'm about to give you," then Kim's eyes went inward as a 'pleading' look came over her. "Answer the phone—" she begged.

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A very important man hung up the phone after the most outlandish, unbelievable phone call he had ever received—

'Priorities and procedures as laid out in NSC Directive #—'

'Unacceptable threshold of danger to security nationwide—'

'Criteria met under DAND Corp ELE Scenario #—'

'Permission to activate emergency services plan #—'

'It is my considered and irreversible opinion that this order should stand'

The very important man dropped his head into his hands _how many hundreds of thousands against maybe the population of the entire world—_

_Maybe—_

The very important mans eyes strayed to the computer screen in front of him where he had just opened the latest update from 'Redoubt'. As if he was a drowning man frantically trying to grab a life preserver, he made his eyes focus on the screen—

For he hadn't gotten past—

'Doctor Drakken in custody but unknown device activated—'

'Unknown device emitting glowing 'field' that is slowly expanding and apparently causes the instant cessation of life when entered—'

In desperation, the very important mans eyes went further down the screen—

'Team Possible, fully functional and operational—is in action and dealing with the problem with the assistance of Doctor James Possible and associates from the Middleton Institute of Science—'

The very important man 'blinked'—

He did so harder the second time as his hands shot out to grip the edges of his desk—

He did so even harder as he shot to his feet—

The he grabbed his phone, punched a number and waited—

"'T-Rex'! 'Centurion'! For 'Ramrod' with all applicable NSC authority; abort the bird! I say again—abort the—!"

Then the very important mans eyes went wide, as one hand went to the phone—

Horror took the face of the very important man when he realized—"that ancient son-of-a-bitch hung up on me!"

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The important man sat numbly, staring at the phone knowing . . . that his life, everything he lived for, all his years of sweat, blood and service . . . was now at an end.

No prison, no trial, no inquiry . . . he would, like so many in his business simply . . . disappear.

. . . . . . he wouldn't die . . . he would just vanished (although a unrecognizable body was always found for the 'death certificate'), never to be heard from again unless 'they' required to 'interview' him at some later date regarding something that he had once been involved with. Not even the important man knew where the place was that he would be . . . sent . . .

He didn't think so—

And at leas by GOD! he was going out for a good cause! The world would be shown just how stupid and therefore dangerous these villain whacks were and how stupid and childish and unmanly it was to even _conceive_ that some little hick-town cheerleading captain, (probably a hussy because they all were—he'd learned that lesson well way back when he had been in college after the war) could possibly be better than highly trained professional killers like _he_ had been—

Because all evil must die! It must be destroyed! The fact that _they wouldn't let him_ do what _needed_ to be done was the whole reason why the country was going straight to HELL!

Then his phone started to ring—multiple lines—

Well, it wasn't going to happen today. He was going to have _this one_ completed—

And then—

The important man reached down under the arm of his chair and pushed a button. In the seat of his chair, a hypodermic needle shot up out of the cushion and into his leg—

In his last moments, the important man was pissed—

They had said that the drug wasn't painful—

Like everything else in government work—they'd lied.

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'Redoubt's eyebrows about jumped off the top of her forehead when the 'purple' phone in her 'office' in the back of the bus in the Middleton command post suddenly buzzed.

Her mouth was dry and her hand was shaking as she picked it up—

"'Redoubt'."

"'Centurion' here. Declaring a Rouge Maverick in progress. High level of confidence that you have a 'Beagle' with an 'alpha' package inbound, unknown vector-unknown ETA! No squawk info so abort unlikely in the next ten to twenty minimum. Will advise if situation alters or abort successful. 'Centurion' out!"

In her entire lifetime, 'Redoubt' had never had a greater shock—

And what was worse, was that even with this information, there was absolutely nothing that she could do with it—

Except wait.

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The 'Beagle' (Bomb Eagle) was directly east of the Wyoming/Utah/Colorado boarder, losing altitude, lowering its speed, starting its knap-of-the-earth run in to the IP (initial point)—

Middleton was down to just about twenty minutes.

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A/N. Once again, a very big thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this. Am pretty well done tying up those loose ends that affect the climax—

So, as they get cleaned up—here it goes.

Events long awaited and events sudden and unplanned will come to Middleton. Chaos will spread, some will live, heroes will make the supreme sacrifice—

The fact is, that no sacrifice is wasted when it is a part of the ENDGAME!


	39. Endgame

"Kim Possible!"

Kim whirled around at that sharp, annoyed, totally-put-out voice.

"Justine, thank God you're here!" and Kim jumped at the plain-figured girl with the perennial hair band holding her short straw blond hair back from her severe face. But there was no intention to hug her classmate, but to take the bulky device she was holding in her arms away and get the science genius over to the other geniuses—

"Would you tell me," Justine Flanner allowed Kim to take the device from her simply because it freed up her arms to flail around like an agitated wasp, "just what exactly is going ON! You call my cell, get my address, tell me to grab my latest model Kinomatic Continuum Disruptor and go outside and the NEXT thing I know, I'm thrown in the back of a police car and brought to something that looks like a WAR ZONE!"

Kim, after laying the device aside, put a calming hand on Justine's shoulder, speaking very rapidly as she led the girl towards the center of the bus, "it's no big thing Justine. Just a little assistance needed again in saving the world—just like you and I—mostly you and your disruptor did when that weird dinosaur thing—" By now Justine was actually taking in the inside of the control bus and starting to get interested—even as Kim prattled on. "There's been a bunch of terms and stuff blasting around in here and I was having all these flashbacks from when we used your device and all the research I did. You remember when I told you that I had read all your notes and had the nerve to tell you that the 'science was sound' and then I had to admit that I had to look up a ton of stuff but I got through it. _That_ stuff I spent all that time looking up is all the stuff I've been hearing in here and I thought of you—"

Justine was sort of impressed—

Then she saw Kim's dad, Wade and—

"Professor Allenford?"

In moments, Justine was buried deep in Drakken's laptop, flashing through formulas, schematics and diagrams with frightening speed, muttering incomprehensible things like 'quantum parallel dynamic interphase quasi barriers' and 'twice cross-induced negative-charged, held-in-suspension positrons linked hyperactively with tri-level sub-node energizers'. Kim didn't even try to pay attention. Her Dad and Wade listened intensively but their expressions often displayed their own lack of understanding of a particular point. Professor Allenford on the other hand looked like he wanted to get down on his knees before the goddess—

Kim could only marvel at the look of focused power about the blond haired girl. From their previous experience together, Kim knew just how intense and brilliant Justine was—and at the same time how rude and standoffish she could be. Undeniably completely brilliant, she should have gone the way of . . . say Wade and graduated from all levels of education years before. But almost totally lacking in social skills and an abysmal failure in any curriculum outside of science (history, phys ed, geography etc), she was still in high school instead of being advanced ahead even though a tech world, maddeningly clamoring for her (and Barkin was adamantly refusing to cave in) was counting down the seconds until she _was_ available. She and Kim had kept friendly contact after their episode together and Kim had sensed that Justine did so in order to maintain some kind of contact outside her world of science—

But all too often the science had overwhelmed the rest of the world, and Justine really didn't seem to care when that happened.

"Alright," Justine suddenly proclaimed with all the authority of an expert reaching an inescapable conclusion, "to a certain extent, both you and Dr Possible were right. Dr Possible in the fact that it appears to be an elastic energy field self supporting by its own internal dynamic—"

"That would explain why it stopped drawing power once it turned on—" Wade said aloud in sudden understanding.

"And why you can't get any sensor readings on it now," Justine finished for him. "Because it is pan-dimensional and really doesn't exist in this 'space'. But it's not a riff because it was generated here rather than tearing open the continuum. So it's like an open window with a screen on it verses a wide open door. Some 'matter' or 'energy' allegoric to 'air' can just sift through 'the screen' but the portal really isn't 'open'."

Justine now sat up and her shoulders sagged heavily. "And Professor Allenford was right in regards to what it does to the human body . . . or any other living thing really. It totally, instantly and completely shuts down _all_ of the chemical and electrical processes that occur in the body, right down to the nucleus in the cells." Justine then glanced at the powerless Kimmunicator. "At the same time, it does 'pull' some of the inherent energy and the 'electricity' like what is in the nervous system, out of the body as it does so. And that is why the field expands. And 'regular' energy, like your device here (she tapped on the inert Kimmunicator on the counter beside her) just feeds the furnace faster. No way that I can think of to knock it out. Energy rays and beams, explosives, heck; even dropping an atomic bomb on it would only cause it to expand in an exponent way. And the more people or power sources it sucks in, the faster it will spread out—" and Justine just stopped there.

"And—?" said a sudden flat toned voice. Justine and those around her looked up to see a pale but stone faced 'Redoubt' now standing before them in the hall to the rear of the bus.

Justine seemed to instinctively recognize an authority figure. The blond girls eyes showed her discomfort with what she had to say . . . but she didn't hesitate. "No known upper limit. It will expand at far beyond this planet killing everything on it at the level of an amoeba and above. As it goes out into interplanetary space, it may run short of energy and cease expansion . . . that will be enough to contain it . . . I think but . . . if it does get to the sun—" and with a tired shrug, Justine dropped her eyes and said "like a black hole that expands instead of constricts".

"Is there any chance—?" 'Redoubt' asked simply.

Justine's eyes closed and it seemed that she became a statue for seemed like the longest time. Wade sat, his fingers working nervously without actually touching just above his keyboards. Professor Allenford took out a handkerchief and mopped his face with it. Kim bit her lower lip until she was sure that she would momentarily be tasting her own blood. Her dad watched the blond girl sitting next to him with a careful 'non-expression' of shrewd appraisal. Monique seemed about ready to scream and jump out of her skin—

"I can do a containment field," Justine spoke so suddenly that several of them did jump. "It will hold the negative field in check. Then I believe we can project; I'll need one of my older KCD's from home, but we can project in and open an actual dimensional rift that should suck the projector in and cause the whole thing to collapse down in on itself like a black hole."

"How long!" and there was _snap_ in 'Redoubts' voice.

Justine (and for that matter Kim) looked at 'Redoubt' as if she could detect . . . something under that emotionless exterior.

Justine however would not sugarcoat it. "At least a couple of hours. Everything for a couple of miles including this," and she raised a hand and looked around the command post, "should be evacuated way back in case there's a feedback reaction in the negative field when _my_ containment field hits it. The negative field may expand hugely when that happens thinking my field is energy. But like trying to blow up a balloon inside of a metal bucket, it will press against my field and may bend it, but it wont get out of it. After that, for all purposes, it will take a bit of special sensor work, multiple calculations and a bit of experimentation to hit on the workable interphase needed to project a rift into that negative field—"

Then Justine came to—her expression looked like she had walked into a door. "oh _DARN_!" she exclaimed.

Professor Allenford's eyes also got big around and he muttered—"the grounding?"

Justine's hand came up to her head as if there was a sudden ache. "Yes," she said with equal pain. Another moment of intense concentration passed—

"With another of my older KCD's properly modified, we can create a second parallel non-sync containment field—"

"Surely you jest!" Professor Allenford was suddenly, completely horrified—

An angry look crossed Justine's face. "It will work," she shot back at him annoyed. Her expression then changed to that of almost dread which belied her voice, "it's going to be tough and keeping that second containment field from pinching its occupant—"

"Occupant?" MrDrP suddenly horrified broke in, "just what are you all considering?"

"The device," Professor Allenford stated with reluctance, "is generating a field which does not exist in this universe. Justine's plan, simply put; is to isolate the . . . negative field as she calls it, create a rift into the universe that _is_ the same as the negative field and allow the mutual attraction to pull the device into it. But the device, while currently existing inside of the alternate universe of the field, is still . . . anchored to _our_ world by—"

Kim looked between the Professor and Justine, the ache in her head again reaching epic proportions as she tried to understand—

Then Wade, with a face screwed up by both concentration and incredulous disbelief by what he had realized—"t—the power cord from when the device was first started and operating in standby and ready mode until the field itself—"

Justine nodded grimly. "And when the device is pulled into the rift that we plan to open, that 'cord', even if it's the same size as that used be a normal household appliance, will act as an anchor for the device." Justine took in and blew out a deep breath. "Just like someone yanking an anchor out of the mud . . . some of that mud will stick to it and go with it into the rift. The question is—" and she looked to Professor Allenford.

"Impossible to say," the scientist responded with hands open wide. "It could be as little as truly the 'wall plug' that the cord is currently plugged into or—"

"Or what?" Monique asked . . . although her tone indicated that she probably didn't want to hear the answer anyway.

Justine shrugged, the gears in her head working so hard that they were starting to smoke. "Considering the current polarized cross-expansion of the factor 'z', and the probable progression of same during the time frame it will take to set the whole thing up . . . the worst-case scenario for the mud to by 'yanked' through with the device—" again a shrug, "upper limit tops . . . would be the entire Tri-cities area."

"I didn't need to hear that," Monique moaned.

Justine took another deep breath. "The variable is too great. We have no choice. Someone has to go in, protected by a containment field projected around them from another KCD into a variable expanding field from a multi-dimensional permeation focal point. That person is going to have to go into a solid structure at an extreme distance from my generators, and once that person is inside that structure, we will be unable to see them and they will need to be kinesthesia and elapse time aware despite all their stifling, clumsy protective gear, to stay within the field we generate as we send them in deeper into the structure based solely on time/distance estimates; while at the same time, that containment field protecting them will be subjected to constant fluxuations due to the unpredictable 'eddies' in the negative field itself and the twisting, pulling variations caused by multiple dissimilar energy continuums working within the same volume of time and space . . . and pull the plug."

Now a horrified silence filled the bus—

"Hey," said Kim trying to sound as light as she could, "not so the drama. When will you be ready to send me in?"

And she winced inside when she heard Monique gasp and saw her dads eyes go as wide as the bus—

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'Redoubt' had walked back to her 'office' to avoid the argument that had erupted between a very brave young girl and everybody else it seemed (other than the proposer of the plan). But even as her mind went over everything she had learned in the last several minutes . . . she was unable to focus on it due to—

Just as she came through the door, the 'purple' line rang. Hope and terror flared to the same intensity as she grabbed the handset—

Terror won out.

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"Someone has to do it dad!" Kim fired back with all the control she could muster. "And I have the best chance of—"

"No one has a chance—" came the flat voice from behind. Kim whirled around to see the woman known as 'Redoubt' standing once again in the hall leading to the back—

Kim had never seen a black woman so pale. And her face . . . death—

But . . . . . . for the longest time, 'Redoubt' just stared at the assembled group, as if thinking . . . as if debating . . . as if afraid to give in to the slightest hope—

Then the walls came crumbling down. "A rouge operative has caused for an Air Force attack jet armed with nuclear ordinance to be sent here to destroy the device—"

"But a nuclear bomb!" Justine cried, coming all the way out of her seat. "Did you hear what I said? Do you know what that will do? It has to be stopped!"

"The aircraft," and 'Redoubt' spoke as if she was repeating verbatim words of doom said to her, "due to the protocol established by the rouge, has disabled its communications equipment for the bomb run on the premise that the supervillian involved, has on prior occasions, been able to duplicate Comm activity, giving phony information, fooling operatives (looking at Kim who instantly remembered the times that Drakken had done just that). It can't be recalled. It's currently inbound through the Rockies in stealth profile. Estimated time of arrival, eight minutes."

Kim's eyes were even bigger than her dad's had been minutes earlier—

Now she was _really_ scared! She thought—_Ron!_

But she turned with pleading eyes too—'Daddy . . . is there anything—?"

MrDrP's eyes were narrowed to almost slits, and he was looking at Justine—

"The parameters of your containment field—" he started.

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Ron almost jumped out of his skin by the sudden noise, the yelling of advisements, the shouting of instructions, the cries of replies, the pounding of feet running it seemed in every direction around his ambulance—

Something had hit the fire—_KIM!_

But he looked to the IV that was now firmly planted in his arm, his fear of it, of the possible adverse reactions or deadly consequences if he tried to pull it out on his own—

He stared at the walls of the ambulance as if trying to see through them.

_Trust_, his trembling internal voice spoke. _I trust you Kim. I trust your feelings that we're gonna get through this, that we're both gonna survive and go on to the rest of our lives. I trust—_ Ron had to swallow as a mood of foreboding took him. He closed his eyes . . . _Stay safe KP._

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Even as everybody within the command post and surrounding locked-down perimeter scrambled for cover and those who knew what was _really_ happening assumed the ancient position of head under to kiss something goodbye—

Kim Possible and Justine Flanner broke out of the government 'black' bus, carrying some kind of device between them, that mode of carry allowing them to run—

Security had broken so the pair passed through the front line and headed down the alley. Kim tried not to think about what had happened the last time she had headed down this way—

She tried not to think about a boy who she had last seen lying in an ambulance a hundred yards away, whom right now, might be on his way to someplace 'safe', when considering what was about to be dropped on her hometown, that no place was 'safe'—

Kim had not been able to kiss Ron and say goodbye—

A quarter way down the alley, Justine suddenly said, 'this is good. Drop it."

As Justine followed her KDC down to the ground, dropping to her knees and starting to activate the device, Kim had her Kimmunicator in her hand. "Wade, the sitch?"

"Got the aircraft on local FAA radar," Wade was sweating as hard as Kim had ever seen, his pale face determined not to let its terror show. "Kim I—its starting its attack run."

"Time Wade," she snapped back as her eyes went to her female partner who was just deploying the antenna.

Wade was typing furiously. "Two to four minutes depending on the bomb drop programming their using."

Kim had never felt her heart race so fast. "Justine?" she asked in a very soft voice.

The blond girl was intensity personified. She ignored the question and continued working until—

Then Justine's hand shot out to Kim, opened palm—waiting

Kim looked at Wade who looked back at her.

"I love you Wade," Kim whispered, kissing the screen of the Kimmunicator.

"Back at cha'" Wade replied with a little wave of his hand.

Kim shut off the Kimmunicator and handed it over to Justine who plugged it into her KCD to provide power for what was about to happen.

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'Redoubt' sat motionless in her 'office' chair, staring out of the back window of the bus without seeing anything, mind turning in slow circles, wondering if she had done something different, had given other options a chance, given over to someone else's opinion—

And considering the who she thought was responsible for this debacle, she found comfort that the old, bigoted, prejudiced, sexist, fascist old dinosaur would die (if he wasn't already knowing him) from the knowledge that if several hundred thousand people survived the next two minutes, it was because of two teenage girls—

MrDrP and MrsDrP took Monique in between them as they stood just outside of the doors to the bus. No word was said, just an embrace most intense among silent tears.

Ron Stoppable was sweating like he was in a sauna as he carefully worked at the tape holding the needle in his arm. His trust was there—but his instincts told him that things were at the brink. And if he was about to die—there was only one place that he wanted to be—

He held that thought as he actually started to pull at the needle—

Soft strong arms with scented hair—

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Suddenly all ears/bones felt a 'hummmmmmm' that shook them right to the molars.

"It's up!" Justine cried as she came up onto her feet. "Alright, now lets get back a bunch of yards. Feedback could—"

Kim looked out—to see a shimmering golden dome over Drakken's warehouse. Kim couldn't believe that something so fragile looking was going to be expected to—

Distant movement caught her eye . . . over/beyond the shimmering dome—out in the far sky—

"Look!" Kim cried to Justine, pointing off over the edge of the neighboring warehouse where a swift moving object, much too far away to hear as of yet, was breaking off toward the south—

Justine crossed herself and brought her hands up before her moving lips—

Kim's thoughts, "_RON! I LOVE YOU! I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU! I'M SORRY THAT I CAN'T BE HOLDING YOU AT THIS MOMENT! MOM! DAD! JIM/TIM! NANA! MONIQUE! WADE! I LOVE ALL—_

Even as both of them turned their backs—

And both were blown flat onto their chests, actually skidding several feet by a blast soooo loud that it was beyond hearing—

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Windows were blown out for a half-mile around. Older walls cracked and bad supports gave way. Car alarms, burglar alarms all raised their din. Swarms of birds took flight, animals went crazy, crying, yapping, baying. Phones were knocked off of hooks, some water pipes broke—

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_Okay . . . I hurt . . . that means I'm still—_

And Kim pushed herself up on her knees, wincing once again at pain in too many places to count. She tired to focus her eyes on the ground in front of her drooped head, some kind of motion in her vision becoming the target she tired to bring into clarity. When it did clear, it took a moment for her to figure out just what it was—

Blood dripping off of her chin from the raw tear in her cheek for the impact with the asphalt. There was something else that was . . . weird—but she couldn't place it—

So she pushed herself over onto her butt, arms out behind her for support, brought her head up to see—

At the same time, as the rest of her senses kicked into ultra high emergency mode—

Kim felt her skin crawling like a thousand ants were running amok and that her hair was blasted out around her head like a dandelion (which had been what had felt weird, it hadn't been enfolding her face when her head was down).

And . . . . . .

And Kim froze in awe—fearful awe—

She realized that the asphalt she was on was quickly turning hot . . . and she was deaf!

And the reason for both was that just yards away, a wall of energy. She realized that it was a half-hemisphere centered over the warehouse, stopping just short of her—

It looked as if it was the BIGGEST booming, snarling, crackling self-contained lightning storm ever, overriding all sound with static discharge whipping around Kim like a hurricane!

And the edge of the dome was pulsing; back and forth/in and out wildly for a distance of several feet—as if a beast of immeasurable power was straining at the bars of its cage, having realized that those bars were weak and that if _all_ of its back into it—

It could escape.

Kim tore her eyes away from the wall of death, looking frantically about—

And her jaw hit her chest—

Justine was kneeling at the controls of her KCD just inches from where the current pulse of the lightning wall was stopping. Kim could _see_ Justine's clothing smoldering, spots on her bare arms were blistering—

Kim rolled out and came to her feet screaming "**JUSTINNNNNE!!!!"**

The blond girl looked over but didn't move. Kim, as if trying to walk into a Force V hurricane wind started toward her—

Then . . . Justine's hand came out to stop her. That hand then snapped down to where the Kimmunicator was plugged into the KCD—

Kim's eyes went wide . . . for the 'low-power' light was on on the Kimmunicator, something she certainly had never seen. Kim, in a flash of bone-deep horror, realized that the tempest before them had taxed even the mega-batteries in the Kimmunicator above and beyond their abilities and the beast was about to—

Justine then waved Kim back and without another look, turned back to the controls of the KCD, making adjustments—

_Justine . . . you're not going too—_

Tears burst from the face of Kim Possible as she turned and started to run for her life—

Behind her—the Shriek of the Banshee broke out and it rose like a jet engine in full afterburner just inches from Kim's ear and she only got a couple of yards before the pure force of the sound literally blew her off of her feet—

And she was rolled onto her side, facing back the way she had come, the force of the sound/energy causing her body to be physically pushed across the hot ground, eyes almost blinded as it seemed that the hemisphere had been transformed into a continuous, massive, single bolt of white hot lightning as big around as her house, arching from the warehouse to where Kim had last seen Justine—

And with another blast that sent Kim skidding across the pavement, road rash tearing at her mission clothes and skin—her brain was blasted by the pressure into unconsciousness—

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The second blast damage radius in the Middleton industrial area extended out more than a mile—near at hand—roofs were peeled back and away, whole walls collapsed, doors and window units were blown in, broken electrical lines sparked and flames flashed out from a multitude of reasons. Farther away, more windows blown out at a greater distance, smaller more fragile structures sagged and fell, underground lines ruptured, some flashed into fire—

Beyond that, it was as if an earthquake rolled through. Damage and injuries mounted. Middleton hospital and other emergency services, already taxed to the max, activated mutual assistance pacts with Upperton, Lowerton and Tri-Cities county—

And somehow, from those at the far reaches of town, to those who had survived at the epicenter—they knew without knowing why they knew, that it wasn't over yet.

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As the earthquake rumbled through an upper-class neighborhood nestled against the eastern foothills, a pale skinned, raven-haired woman became aware for the first time in several days. She stared up at the ceiling as she felt the house shake and heard the windows rattle, weaker than a newborn kitten—

But she knew—

_Drew . . . Ron . . . Kim—survive!_

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There were cruses and prayers of disbelief as those in the command post realized that they were still alive. Thirty seconds later, those where gone as cries for medical assistance or situation control overrode everything else.

James Possible slowly picked himself up off of the forms of his wife and his daughter's best girlfriend. When the banshee broke, recognizing what was happening, he had thrown them both to the ground, covering their bodies with his. Taking a moment to look about with both disbelief and scientific appreciation, he reached back down to help—

"DOCTOR!" yelled a voice—

Both Jim and Anne Possible, her holding the side of her head where she had bumped it going down, looked up instinctively—

But the member of the government 'black' bus crew then pointed directly at Anne, indicating her for she was still in her hospital surgical scrubs. "Hurry," he said waving her back inside with him with all the force of alarmed desperation.

MrsDrP paused long enough to grab her husband's head and jerk it around so she could fiercely kiss him—

Then she was up and into the bus.

MrDrP helped Monique up, steadying her on her feet, then saying with a grim tone, "wait here," even as he turned in the direction of the alley.

Monique instantly realized, "let me—"

"NO," and it came with the full force of his authority.

Monique deflated as he walked away. _I know _she thought,_ it's probably beyond hope . . . but please be alive Kim._

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The police armored extraction vehicles, parked bumper to bumper across the mouth of the alley had actually been pushed back/sideways more than a foot by the tire marks on the pavement.

And the news went downhill from there.

For even as he was walking up on those vehicles, MrDrP could see down the alley, see the warehouse at the far end, see that it was incredibly intact considering what had just happened to it, and he could see that the negative field, despite whatever it had done during the . . . event, was now clearly visible as a shimmering dome over the warehouse, the limits of the field extending maybe a couple of yards from the walls of the building.

MrDrP could see that the warehouses to either side that formed the alley had, about a quarter of their length down, a large section . . . missing. To his trained eye, it looked as if the gaps on the far side, which would have been 'in' the event, were cut as sharp and clean as the gap left by extracting a piece of cake. The near edges of the gap however, being he surmised 'out' of the event, were burning merrily where there was fuel to support same.

As a result, clouds of smoke were rolling through the alley—

And MrDrP could see two very still forms on the ground just this side of 'the event horizon'. One of those forms, along with the wall next to it—

James Possible felt the bile rise in his throat—

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The feeling of hands closing about her shoulders was enough to bring Kim back to awareness.

And now she _HURT!_

She felt herself being pulled up and around—

But then, she realized that everything was so . . . silent.

She forced her eyes to open—

Kim found herself looking into her father's face—even thou it was floating around in her vision.

His lips were moving but she couldn't hear him.

Her head was as light as air spinning about in a dust devil—her stomach was spinning just as fast.

Kim tried to get things to stop moving. Looking beyond her fathers face, was a Middleton firefighter—

Kim realized that they both were drawn, pale . . . sickly looking.

Kim felt her father shift her as if he was about to pick her up and carry her away.

But there was something important . . . something that she had to know. Even as her father gathered her in his arms, her head frantically twisted about—

Kim saw several other firefighters using a blanket to pat out the flames on something twisted and charred yards back down the alley—

Then the memory twisted back into her brain—

Kim jerked about like a falling cat righting herself, falling out of her dads arms, to her hands and knees, looking over just long enough to confirm her screaming disbeliefs—

Kim then totally and completely heaved what little her stomach held as the reality matched the nightmare of her unconsciousness—

And her mind screamed _NNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

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Ron's hand was so sore from banging on the jammed back doors of the ambulance, his voice was horse from yelling for help—

And there were people right out there; he could hear them running by—

Buy he could also hear other yelling, probably trapped as he was—

And he didn't have a clue what was going on or how long—

For whatever the 'blast' was, it had blown him off of the gurney into a heap on the ambulances floor, banging his head against the edge of the side bench . . . he knew that he had gone 'out', but he didn't know if it had been for seconds, minutes or . . . hours.

Finally, exhausted, bleary headed, falling into despair, he stopped and sat dejectedly on the bench next to the door, one hand protectively covering Rufus who was still apparently 'out' from the effects of the black glow.

Then Ron twisted and brought his fist up to pound on the doors; his mouth coming open to yell once again for there was someone, at least two, probably more—passing _right by_ the rear of his ambulance—

And Ron could hear what they were saying—

And everything he heard caused everything about him to turn to ice—

_Yeah, I saw her. Her body was completely burned to a crisp—_

_I guess she was out there trying to stop the Goddamn thing with some kind of machine—_

_Incredibly brave if you ask me. They're saying that if it hadn't been for her, we'd all be fried right now—_

_I saw her when she came in, just a teen, maybe ready to graduate high school—_

_Well, I was one of the ones to put the fire out on the body. There's hardly anything left. Burned right down to the skeleton—_

". . . . . . no . . . . . . Kim—" came the words from a young boys lips, worse than horrified, more than agonized

Ron Stoppable felt in himself . . . everything but his actual living body . . . die— 

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A/N Dark . . . yes. But I will make no apologies. It is darkness that gives birth to heroes.

And real heroes are those who are pushed to the very limit . . . to the end.

And what happens at the END of Endgame?

If neither side has conceded the game-if it has been fought out to the finish—

It's called Checkmate! And it means that only one is left standing.


	40. Checkmate

The three of them stood in a small cluster eyeing the beast—

"It's expanded about fifty feet from where I first saw it after the discharge," MrDrP said to the others with him.

Professor Allenford, his balding gray haired head shaking slowly with accumulated disbelief. "But it was all the way out to where the building was burning?"

MrDrP nodded reluctantly. "We can surmise that due to the damage to the building and . . . the location where Ms Flanner . . ."

Professor Allenfords "incredible" was laced with pride, grief and amazement. "She must have realized what was truly happening. We got the readings on the sensors all the way over at the Institute, and by all appearances, it was about to get out of control—"

The third member of the party was small and dark, and having to deal with far too many emotions for his young age. "So you think she actually—" Wade ventured.

"The best I can guess," Allenford said with soft reverence, "was that when she realized that it was going to go, is that she extended the antenna on her KCD out until it actually touched the field barrier."

"She grounded it," MrDrP said in near awe.

"And all that energy went to ground . . . with her inches away." Allenford finished it.

"But it didn't knock out Drakken's device," MrDrP's voice was now grim.

And Wade lifted his Over-Load and took another scan, "and it's still growing—and it's getting faster."

"It's hungry," Allenford said with dread.

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Monique Raven didn't know which was scaring her more at the moment. The fact that a mad scientist weapon was still without control and growing in strength and power not far from where she was sitting—

Of the limp, haunted-eyed form of her best friend lying on her side on a gurney, bloody, bandaged—

Grieving—

"Kim," Monique whispered, knowing that she had to keep trying, thankful that in the past hour that most of her friends hearing had come back, "it's not your fault."

"I called her here," came the reply carrying more pain than anyone could possibly imagine even as Kim curled herself up into as tight a little fetal ball as the gurney could manage. "She's dead because of me."

"You have to know inside you," Monique pressed, "that she wasn't doing anything different that what you do. And that all of us would be dead if Justine hadn't done whatever it was that she did. Kim! She's a hero . . . like you! And as much as it hurts—Good God Kim! how many times have you and Ron ridden that ragged edge and almost—"

"I need Ron Mo," and Kim almost whimpered when she said it. "And I don't even have any idea where he was taken." Kim curled up on herself even tighter—but one hand reached out—and Monique took it, and almost cried out as Kim crushed it with desperate strength—"I need Ron to hold me Mo—to tell me it's not my fault. I—I—I'll believe him if he says it."

Monique reached out with her other hand and covered both of their hands. She then gave a glance at the female paramedic who had treated Kim and was now keeping watch. The two of them exchanged looks, the woman nodding, before Monique was able to look back to Kim and tell her, "what say that I try to find out and maybe get him back here for you."

Slowly Kim's hold on Monique's hand lessened until she let go completely. "Can you do that for me Mo, I—I really really need that right now. I need him."

Monique forced a smile and a cheery tone, "girlfriend, one TCCBF coming up."

There was a pause . . . then Kim's head came up, like the head of a turtle coming out of its shell . . . bearing 'the look'.

"Totally Committed Compassionate Boy Friend" Monique translated.

Just a hint of a smile came to Kim's face, along with a heartfelt, "you Rock."

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Ron Stoppable now knew exactly what . . . she had meant when she had tried to describe her 'black hole' at her center that had almost swallowed all of her humanity—

Ron only wished it would do the same to his pain.

He'd finally been extracted from the rear of the ambulance (by a crew coming in through the front cab doors . . . which had never occurred to him) and he was sitting over at the far edge of the huge parking lot medical area, huddled in a blanket against a wall—

Wanting to die—

"Hey," called an unknown voice, "it's still getting bigger. You can see it now." And that statement was accompanied by a choirs of groans and comments (mostly obscene).

Ron raised his head, if only to confront in his mind, his loves killer.

The 'dome' of the negative field was now high enough at this distance to be seen over the nearby warehouses.

Ron felt a stirring, and Rufus popped out of his pocket to look as well. While still being 'trapped' in the ambulance, it had been Ron's sobbing that had finally awakened the Molerat—

And it was Ron having to tell Rufus what he had heard that had finally broken through the disbelief and brought it really home—Ron had been sobbing so hard when his rescuers extricated him that no words were exchanged between them.

Rufus looked at the negative field, then turned and looked at Ron, huge eyes red-rimed, wrinkles of agony etched—

Ron knew that he should have gone to see—at least tried to find Kim's 'rents in order—or even Monique—

But all will and strength had been pulled from him as surely as that damn dome had nearly sucked the life out of his love—

Only to later fry her alive—

And Ron had not been there to watch her back.

Maybe he could have . . . . . . or somehow interposed himself . . . . . or done SOMETHING!

ANYTHING EXCEPT LYING FLAT ON HIS ASS WHILE HIS ENTIRE WORLD DIED!!!!

His eyes narrowed on the field. He had been mulling things over in his brain—

Ron had, after endless reviewing in his mind how helpless and useless he had been during their first encounter with the device . . . realized that he knew one thing that had worked inside of that thrice-damned field—something involving a thrown wrench and a broken light—but how—

He hadn't known, but so into his world of blackness he was, that he didn't realize that all his fellow walking wounded had their hands clasped firmly over their ears and something was whipping the edges of the blanket around—

Ron's head suddenly snapped up, only now realizing that a Global Justice Hovership was coming in over them, heading for a landing somewhere back beyond the building that Ron currently had his back against a wall of.

Ron's eyes narrowed and things clicked.

Shrugging off the blanket, he stood, reeling more than a little once he was on his feet, needing to prop himself with one hand for a minute—

But the dizziness didn't stop him. He had a killer field to kill—

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After waiting with grim patience throughout the long moment, enduring the orders to get back when the police had expanded the perimeter . . . watching . . . waiting . . . firmly grasping the certainty of the feelings inside her which kept her rooted to her purpose despite hurting a shoulder when the first blast threw her back into a wall and nearly loosing her life when the second blast caused part of the building she had been trying to slip around collapsed behind her as she crawled frantically away—

She had no idea what had happened . . . and it didn't matter. She had at last used the disruption and the chaos to get in through the broken perimeter, to get in close enough to the heart of it . . . ignoring all else that tore at her eyes/ears/nose/heart . . . until she finally saw someone she knew—someone who—

She had, in her journey to this point had heard snatches of all the stories and rumors as they had made their way around the disrupted area. From all that, she had been able to piece together what appeared to have happened—

A flood of tears and an avalanche of grief threatened to erupt from her—

But those were held in check by the need to stay clear-headed—ready to seize the opportunity to do what had to be done when she recognized that moment.

Then she saw the one she knew move—saw the look on his face—was stricken with horror at that sight and a terrified guess came to her—

With the fatal conviction that the moment that it had waited for was very, very close—she—

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MrsDrP came out of the makeshift eval section of the triage area; sickened to her soul over the decisions she had to make in the last hour. Starting with 'Redoubt' who aboard the government 'black' bus had been shredded by the blast shattered back window of her 'office' to all the others who had been brought in to this spot where she only had field paramedic and EMT equipment to work with—

Far too many had been lost to her decisions as to who received what care

As she stared across the wide expanse of walking wounded, she thought back thirty years and desperately wished for a cigarette—

Then she 'blinked' and looked—

But, it was too late, for the figure in the distance that had looked just like Ron, had disappeared around the far corner of a building.

But before MrsDrP could—she was being called back inside to make another decision—

But she kept glancing at that far corner—a foreboding coming over her.

MrsDrP started to turn back to the call—then . . . her eyes shot back again for she realized that another person—who had also looked familiar—has just followed the first around the corner.

MrsDrP tried to call up a memory to identify who that second figure just might be. But her recall train-of-thought was interrupted by an even more frantic call behind her. She shook off her wayward musings and turned back into the horror.

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James Possible came up quietly to the figure on the gurney. He noted that even though he had approached his daughter from her front—and the fact that her eyes were open—she didn't react to his presence, didn't even seem to know that he was there. He gave a glance to the paramedic . . . who could only shrug.

He knew that his daughter was in terrible pain; and he wasn't talking about her injuries even though to him . . .

The deep, bloody abrasion on her cheek was covered with a very large adhesive patch. On the arm/shoulder which had been 'down' against the pavement when first the wall of noise and then the sonic blast had hit her/dragged her across the hot pavement . . . her mission shirt had been cut away to the armpit and the arm wrapped from the elbow up. Also, the portion of her torso that was normally . . . exposed by her cropped (too cropped in his opinion) shirt was also wrapped as the 'down' side of her bare side had been scraped open by the equivalent of heavy duty road rash.

But MrDrP knew that his Kimmy-cub was hurting so much more on the inside right now—

And the scientist in him, the man in him, understood her grief, her heartbreak. For he was the one who had made the suggestion to use the containment field to try and harness the bomb—

He knew it had been the right decision . . . the fact that he was able at this moment to look at his daughter at all proved that but—the responsibility—the reaction of Justine's parents when the chain of events was made known to them—weighed very, very heavily on him.

And the father in him hated for having to break into his daughter's grief and heartbreak . . . but what Justine Flanner had died for, could not be wasted away for nothing—

Although he tried to avoid it, through he had always tried to make as little of it as he could, James Possible knew that he was also the father of a hero . . . and the world needed his daughter to be that once again—

For Justine . . . and the rest of humanity.

"Kimmy," he said gently but with enough force to make sure it registered—

His daughter blinked, then her eyes came up on him and focused. "Daddy?" and she sounded surprised. James Possible tried to form a smile—then decided against it as—

"The necessary equipment has arrived from both the Space Center and the Institute of Science and Technology . . . along with . . ." and for a moment, he couldn't go on—

His daughter absorbed this, her mind forcing itself to function even in her current state, allowing her to realize just what it was that her father couldn't say—

"Who," and Kim's voice cracked like the Grand Canyon, "who went and told Justine's family?"

Her dad took a deep breath before, "Mr. Barkin went. We—we needed the older models of her device in order to get this done and it was felt that he could best get that accomplished."

Kim's head shook slightly. "But . . . they were Justine's—who will—?"

Her dad now gave his daughter a firm look. "Justine had done several experiments . . . after your little incident with the dinosaur at school before the science fair, with Professor Allenford. He will work the device that will create the containment for the negative field. Wade—"

Kim's eyes actually bugged out a little, something that her father found to be very good, her starting to have reactions other than grief and despair. "But . . .but—Wade?"

"Wade understands the basics," her father said with equal firmness. "And he's installing a sensor into your . . . suit that he hopes his Over-Load will be able to track. His reaction time is above and beyond that of either Allenford or me so he will be able to deal with real-time variations and fluctuations much better than we ever could. And—" and her dad paused, looking at her significantly, "and who better could you trust to put himself totally on the line to keep you safe but Wade."

Kim's huge green eyes, the emerald sheen of them washed out by her grief and self-loathing, looked up at her father, absorbing all of this. They then fell down to look at the ground between them—"I don't know if I can do this dad. I don't—"

"I know that you're . . . upset," her dad spoke to her, trying to put both all his love and yet all of his parental authority in at the same time, "but before . . . you said that only you could do this, and as much as I might not want it, you're right, only you have any chance of success." James Possible took another breath, then—"time to get back up in the saddle Kim. We have to do this now while the negative field is still a manageable size for the power sources we have." Then her father held out his hand.

Kim dropped her head all the way down . . . and gave a single great sob—

Which took her almost a whole minute to choke back down. Without looking up, she then held out her bandaged arm, and allowed her father to pull her to her feet.

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Kim didn't remember walking to the staging area. She thought that she went the entire distance with her chin on her chest, one hand occasionally wiping at a wet eye or runny nose. But she did have a distinct feeling that every eye of every person around, was locked on her; grim/hopeful looks or looks of sympathy or understanding. All of the emergency responders from Middleton knew her, who and what she was—and she could feel their faith in her. All the outsiders . . . their faith held onto to her worldwide reputation—

That faith . . . replaced and reinforced her own which had been badly battered.

Faith that desperately needed some Ronshine—and Monique had not returned.

Kim had to . . . and she did, draw in the faith that she felt from all around her—

So . . . by the time her dad had led her, with a fatherly arm around her shoulder, to the staging area, her eyes and nose were dry, her eyes were open, and her heart and breathing was steady.

Wade and Professor Allenford stood to one side, all the techs from the Space Center and the Institute on the other—

Waiting for her, she who could do anything—

Kim shifted her thumb on her left hand until it rested inside her palm on the band of the friendship ring that bonded her and Ron—

_Wherever you are my love—watch my back like I know only you can do._

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He who was once Ron Stoppable, stood at the edge of the large parking lot being used as a heliport—

His eyes fixed firmly on the Global Justice craft that had just landed—

He knew that God, or The Gods or Fate or The Ron Factor or whatever wanted him to do this because the pilot had left the engines running. He's been in this type of craft so many times, had spent time in the co-pilot seat, had watched how the pilot flew the craft, had even been allowed some hands-on time during which he had only come slightly close to killing himself or the pilot or any other passengers or—

. . . . . . Kim . . . . . .

_'I guess she was out there trying to stop the Goddamn thing with some kind of machine—'_

"I—" and Ron almost choked. His hand was out in front of him, palm open and up, his best friend after his best friend/girlfriend, whom he had just been reunited with, looking up at him, tears streaming from those little eyes.

"I don't know where or what the machine was that _she_ was trying to use came from or who made it. But whoever or whatever it was, I know that it was entrusted to _her_, to only _her_, because they knew, they ALL knew that only _she_ was capable of getting it in there where the job could be done—"

_'Incredibly brave if you ask me. They're saying that if it hadn't been for her, we'd all be fried right now—'_

"_She_ was the bravest, most beautiful, most caring, most wonderful person in the whole universe," and the agony in his voice. "No one will ever equal her again!" The pain tore him open like a saw. "And _SHE_ loved! me! . . . WORTHLESS, SLACKER, ABNORMAL ME! . . . even when _she_ couldn't say it!"

_'I saw her when she came in, just a teen, maybe ready to graduate high school—'_

The **ANGER** roared out of him, "our whole LIVES were ahead of US! And SHE believed that we were going to spend them TOGETHER!"

The young man stood with his other hand over his eyes and sobbed for a period.

"I," he was finally able to talk again, "I" and there was a steel now to his tone, like that of an ancient hand-made blade of incredible strength and power, "I hate to do this to you little buddy," and his hand dropped, revealing eyes; although red . . . were now dry, "But I need you to deliver a message. I don't know if . . . her parents or Monique survived, uninjured or otherwise, but they need to know, our mom and dad need to know—that I'm sorry for having to do this, but it has to be done . . . and as I have nothing to live for anymore . . . I'm the best one to do it."

Something—the young man didn't know what—something—some kind of sound—maybe a sob or a catch of breath or an exclamation of some kind had come from over—and his head whipped around for he was fearful of being caught . . . and stopped.

He couldn't allow that. But as he looked about frantically, he saw no one, heard nothing else. He wondered if his own grief was starting to cause him to loose it. He had to act before he couldn't!

The young man looked back down at his open palm. Rufus had been staring up at him in disbelief, new grief already overtaking and overwhelming the prior—. He started to shake his head in denial—

"Got no choice," his boy said firmly. "And I really hate to leave you out like this. But . . . Wade . . . Jim and Tim . . . you'd be a good match with any of them and—" and a fresh sob rose in his throat.

The young man placed his free hand behind the back of his friend in a 'hug', then leaned down to kiss the little guy on the forehead.

"Live forever Rufus," he said almost choked solid. "I'm going to where she and I can be together . . . forever."

And with that, the young man set the little guy down, and started walking toward the waiting hovership—

And Rufus turned and bolted as fast as he could toward the main command area, pleading to the universe that his boy would falter and fuss and flail about with the crafts controls, unable to get it airborne until he could return with someone who could stop this madness—

And from around the corner right next to where the two of them had been standing, just an eye of a tear streaked, a figure with a disbelieving face peered around that corner—

A face that knew that the moment had come—

Debts would be paid—

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Monique was getting more than a little desperate. Control had been broken as far as emergency services were concerned. The two blasts had taken out parts of the chain of command, the sudden resulting influx of dead and injured along with damage to the control communications and mechanisms had resulted in a complete loss of coordination. Other than finding the ambulance that Ron had been in, half on its side, badly damaged, apparently unmoved from when Kim and her had been there, now alarmingly empty—

It had obviously not taken Ron anywhere. And checking with the harried, harassed triage staff—

There was no prelim medical record for Ron—but Monique was told that if someone had been brought in that had failed the triage evaluation—

The dead and irreversibly dieing were not being identified right now.

As far as the walking wounded—

It reminded Monique of that scene from that movie they'd seen in school about a rich girl during the Civil War where a square in the city near where she lived had been filled with wounded. So she was walking all though it, scanning faces/profiles—

Then she was knocked forward and something like a frenzied clawing cat ran up her legs and back and hair—

And right over the top of her head—

And Rufus, frantically waving his arms and chittering so fast that it sounded like six million crickets!

"RUFUS!" screamed Monique as she reached up with both hands, relieved that she had found this link to Ron, alarmed that he was not only tearing up her hair—

Why was he so frantic?

Even when Monique got him loose and down to in front of her face, he was going berserk with pointing and attempting to get loose—

And he was still going so fast that she couldn't understand.

Finally. "Rufus!!!" she shouted into his face, "where's Ron???"

And the Naked Mole Rat in her hands suddenly froze solid—

Monique realized that he was staring back over her shoulder—

And only now did she realize that behind her, was a growing noise of some kind of engine—

And Monique looked back over her shoulder—just in time to see a very wobbly Global Justice Hovership rising above the building behind them—

And Rufus was pointing his entire body at it, screaming at the top of his little voice, "RON! RON!"

"Oh no!" Monique breathed—

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Kim Possible felt the eyes of those who were all around her still on her, felt the impatience and fear in the very air, heard Wade's advisements as he monitored the now steady expansion of the negative field—

But she wanted to be in Ron's arms that night, so she was hunkered down on her haunches, going over the rad suits controls for the third time with the technician, memorizing, making sure that she knew exactly what she would have to do in any given circumstances.

Everything else she had shuttled to the back of her mind. She was still aware of the personnel rushing about the central part of the command post where they were at, trying to reestablish control of their areas. The Incident Commander, now that 'Redoubt' was a casualty, had decided not to pull the perimeter back regardless of what had been Justine's recommendation. It wasn't that the I/C thought it was unnecessary, it was just that the situation in the area was so out of control and overwhelmed that it wasn't possible to do given the time they thought they had. They would try to get as many of the non-essential people out and many of the wounded.

And due to this, Kim was aware near at hand of the sirens of new ambulances and other undamaged emergency equipment arriving. She was aware of supervisors calling their groups together to be organized and moved out. She was aware of the loud rising noise in the distance of a Global Justice Hovership lifting off—

"KKIIIIMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!"

And her head snapped up so fast that it re-injured the tweak in her neck that Ron had healed—

For Monique would be yelling like that for only one reason—and it brought Kim to her feet even as her body and mind threatened to shut down—

WHATS HAPPENED TO RON blew through Kim's entire being—

Officers moved to intercept the black girl as she came into the staging area—

"Let her through!" her dad commanded in a tone Kim had never heard him use before.

Then, as Monique burst through to them, it registered to Kim that Rufus was on Monique's shoulder, looking even more frantic than her girlfriend!

Kim's brain locked as only one thought something happened to Ron in one of the blasts! He's hurt—bad—maybe— and Kim STOMPED on that thought!

Monique now practically fell into Kim, the redheaded teen having to grab her friend and support her as the black girl was breathing so hard from her full-bore sprint that she almost couldn't—but made herself—between bellows—

"—Ron!"

"—Heard about Justine!"

"—But thought it was you!"

"—Ron thinks you're DEAD!"

"WHAT!?!" Kim managed in a shocked/appalled/choked scream—

Both Monique's and Rufus's hands went up, back the way they came, pointing up—

"He's gonna try . . . . . . to knock out the field . . . . . . by crashing the Hovership into it!"

'NO!!!" screamed them all, Professor Allenford, Wade, Kim's dad, Kim herself louder than everybody else!

"A direct kinetic attack on the device," yelled Professor Allenford, "by something the mass of a Hovership will destroy the device, but without the field being contained, the reaction of the discharge of all of the stored energy within the device—"

"Forget the science!" Kim screamed back at him. "Ron's going to kill himself for NOTHING! WADE!" and she rounded on the youth. "Comm! Radio! Morse Light! Project your hologram or voice or thoughts! ANYTHING! Just get through to him! STOP HIM!"

"Trying Kim!" he barked back as he held the Over-Load up in front of him, pointed at the Hovership, fingers frantically working at the little keyboard—

Then the Hovership leapt up into the air, flapping on its axis's like a demented Frisbee, but managing to go into a ballistic arc, climbing, going over the top (Wade desperately trying to track it), starting to dive down as its fans roared into a full-throated howl!

"Everybody get DOWN!" Professor Allenford bellowed even as he dived under a truck—

Everybody else turned and tried to find a foxhole in the pavement—except a young man taking his last best shot to try and reach his friend—

And a flame-haired beauty whose heart, mind and soul was desperately reaching out across the distance—tying to let her love know—

She actually **screamed**it at him up in the sky—

_"**I'M ALIVE RON! DON'T DO THIS! LIVE FOR ME!**"_

But it seemed to be all in vain. For the Hovership was now committed to coming down, through the smoke from the still burning fires—

Kim prayed . . . but knew inside her that it was too—

Then she saw the distinctive blast from the cockpit area, saw the ejection seat launch clear (WADE GOT THROUGH!!!), saw the occupant of the seat separate from it, saw the beginnings of the drogue chute start to deploy, saw what she thought (although it had to be impossible through the smoke, at that distance) was a flash of blond hair—

Kim Possible, with her eyes focused on the airborne figure of her love, didn't hear the Hovership's engines suddenly go quiet as it entered the dome of the field, didn't see the Hovership plow into the top of the warehouse—

And she didn't see anything more as her feet were suddenly kicked completely out from under her and down she went like a ton of bricks—

But she didn't even hit the ground before—

The entire world exploded—

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The first blast from the barely contained tactical nuke had bled through the containment field with the force of approximately 20lbs of high explosive. The second blast, caused by the shunting of all the energy from the first blast to ground was the equivalent to 200lbs of high explosive—

The third blast in Middleton that morning was ten times worse with all the stored up otherworld energy discharging at once!

The only saving grace was that a rent in the field caused by the passage of the hovership as it went through it that caused much of it to go skyward—

But still—

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Kim Possible became aware—

A small, separated portion of her psych that could still function rationally, knew that she hadn't been 'out' long for there was still an incredible amount of debris falling from the sky (something smacking her on a leg was part of what brought her back).

Things were strangely quiet. But it wasn't the same as before when her hearing was blown out, for she could hear some of the debris as it struck the ground.

She realized that she was on her side. It was difficult to tell . . . for she wasn't numb . . . it was just that everything hurt and it was interfering with the regular sensations.

She lifted her head up, pushing herself up a little on her arms, her bones and joints cracking and . . . at least in her upper half, nothing seemed to be broken.

And she didn't know . . . for she was still facing in the direction of where the warehouse had been, but her ungeared mind looked across and saw where she had been at the staging area . . . and now she was way, way all the way over here—

Had the blast thrown her that far?

That little piece of her brain was ready to accept it. For looking across from where she was at, it took in so much of what had changed—

First off, she could see portions of the wreckage of the warehouse the device had been in . . . because the other warehouse that had formed that side of the alley and had originally been blocking the view from this vantage point had literally been flattened to kindling with lots of little fires just now starting to break out—

The police armored recovery vehicles which had been parked noise to tail at the mouth of the alley in front of a large fire truck, where squashed into that same fire truck like crushed paper toys, the fire truck itself blown over on its side for good measure—the police command trailer behind that . . . it looked like nothing was left of it.

Smoke blew into Kim's face and she coughed . . . and that hurt above and beyond all of her other pains. A glance back into the smoke told her that all of the buildings over there were burning—

Kim heard a groan to her other side and she looked over—a man in what was barely recognized as a set of military camys there was so little of them left—blood everywhere, it looked like he was missing his left—

Kim's mind snapped back into gear and despite the agony her body jerked upright—

_MOM! DAD! MONIQUE! WADE! RROOOONNNNNNNN!!!!_

Kim belatedly realized that the ground was littered with as many bodies as it was with debris. Bile rose in her throat as she realized that some of the stuff she thought was debris . . .

Kim frantically looked down at herself—only to almost faint when she saw that she appeared to have all her parts. As it was, she could see most of them. One entire leg of her mission pants was missing, blown clean away. The other, the top was torn at her hip like shorts, the remaining material still attached to her leg at the cuff but trailing away behind her. While she had both of her shoes, her utility belt and hairdryer/grapple holster was nowhere to be seen. Her mission shirt was in complete tatters (what remained of it anyway after the arm was cut away due to her earlier injury) and her sports bra under it was torn, pieces hanging, barely keeping her covered. On all of her exposed skin, were burns, rashes, bruises, cuts-small and smaller giving much of it, due to the little pinheads of blood and the embedded pieces of debris, the appearance of sandpaper. Most of the bandage around her mid-drift from the earlier road rash was gone and that wound was bleeding again—

But only one thing counted right now and she tried it—

Her legs moved—and she was able—with every body part involved screaming protests, to very slowly get to her feet.

Kim's head was spinning, and she was beyond nauseated—and she was sure that something was wrong with her ribs—but she was up . . . and with a PAINFUL little limp, she started back over—

Kim was now able to see that others were stirring, getting up—

And others were starting to cry out in pain and agony—

Kim then heard, from over to her right—

Monique screaming! Kim ignored the pain and moved as fast as her twisted body would allow—

Kim found Monique, safe from much but not all of the harm by a burly firefighter who had thrown himself over the black girl to shield her—

Before the block wall surrounding a trash dumpster had collapsed down over onto them—one sharp corner of a block striking the firefighter in the back of his head.

And now Monique was trapped under the weight of his dead body—

Getting more and more control of her own body, and while it took time, Kim was able—barely; to lift off the pieces of shattered block, including the one on Monique's lower leg as well as all that covered both bodies, until Kim was at last able to push the fallen hero off of her friend enough for her to grab Monique under the armpits and drag her out—

During the entire time. Monique reacted to the shock/fear/relief/grief—she babbled about how the firefighter had grabbed her and literally carried her over behind the wall in the seconds that he had, had protected her even though she had fought against him, had—

Once Kim got her clear, the two embraced with Kim down on her knees as Monique let it all out. But the shouts and cries and screams forced Monique to get a grip on herself. Her clothing was ripped, torn, soaked with her rescuers blood, but still in better physical shape than Kim's because she had been protected from most of the actual blast. Monique's formally trapped leg was badly swollen and added to the previously injured knee, she was only able to gingerly put weight on it. Her exposed arms/legs had several bad cuts and there were a couple of burns from flying debris.

Once Monique was 'up', the two of them looked at each other . . . and for the first time Monique 'looked' as Kim and really saw her face.

"Kim?" her friend breathed as if fearing the worst.

Kim just waved her hands around as if lost—"Ron?!? My dad! Wade? Did you see—?"

Realization went off in Monique and she tried to get herself under—although initially, all she could do was shake her head in answer to Kim's questions. As one they looked back across the distance to where the staging area had been.

And the two of them about jumped literally out of their skins when directly behind them—

"KIM! MONIQUE!"

The two of them spun around to see a staggering but otherwise apparently unharmed Wade Load coming toward them through the chaos. As neither of them could 'run' to him, both girls stood their ground. Kim called, "Wade? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Monique added with disbelief. "Why aren't you all torn up like everybody else?"

Now that he was closer, the two girls could almost see that Wade's eyes were crossed. And he had to finally come up with one hand to hold his head as he reached the pair. "The Over-Load," he started in explanation, "puts out a small force bubble . . . like your battle suit." Wade glanced around guiltily. "But it's only big enough for me. The emitters aren't as large as what's on your suit. So I rode out the blast—" He turned to wave back toward one of the now burning warehouses—and almost fell over when he did so.

"Wade," Kim asked concerned. "Your balance?"

The young genius made a motion like he wanted to shake his head but didn't dare to do so. "The force bubble bounced me like a ball all the way over there (he gestured off over his shoulder)—into that building. I then had to roll my way out of the building as it collapsed over and around me because of the blast damage. I—I lost my footing a lot because I was having to rush so bad and rolled along with the ball."

"So your balance is shot," Monique just shook her head. "But other than that—"

Kim now reached out to steady the boy by his shoulders. "Ron? My parents? Wade—?"

Wade could only give his most helpless shrug.

Kim jabbed a finger at the Over-Load. "You can't track Ron with that!"

Wade's face now completely fell. "I can't locate his chip."

Monique's eyes went wide, then she looked sidelong at the suddenly speechless redhead besides her. Keeping Kim in her vision, Monique, trying to sound very calm, asked Wade, "is your Load thingy broken? Or is all this crap in the air making it louse up or is there any reason—"

"There is," Wade said very carefully—and a pair of very frightened emerald eyes were locked on him just as carefully, "an unbelievable amount of static and free energy in the air right now that is blinding almost all of my sensors—" and Wade's tone left the 'but' unsaid.

After a long moment, "Wade?" Kimberly Anne Possible forced herself to say, forced herself to speak the unspeakable, forced herself to open the door to her worst nightmare—

Wade could not meet her eyes. "While I was limping back over here, I had time to run a preliminary record of the blast." Wade's head turned back and forth as if trying to seek an avenue of escape from the crushing stare of those emerald eyes. "As bad as it was down here . . . you can see how bad it was . . . the vast majority of the blast actually went up into the air . . . you know—up into the sky . . . most explosions do that unless their contained in something . . . they go . . . skyward—"

It suddenly struck Kim. Most of the blast went up into the air—and there her boyfriend had been, freefalling, drogue of his parachute not even all the way deployed—

If the blast on the ground had been big enough to throw her as far as it did—

_Most of the blast went up—_

Just the initial shock wave, broken up down on the ground by the buildings that was in its way—buildings that it had almost completely destroyed—such a shockwave—unblocked—what would it have done to a completely unprotected person suspended in midair—

"no—" Kim whimpered—

Monique started to speak, started to reach out to her—

Eyes and mouth went stark raving wide, a look completely taking over the first and a torn keening of absolute agony emitting from the second . . . hands trembling as they came up toward cheeks suddenly drenched in flowing tears—

And Kim Possible felt herself die.

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End of world—

End of love—

End of hope—

End of joy—

End of today—

End of the tomorrows that he had just helped her find—

End of the universe—

End of everything—

End of life . . . his life and therefore her life . . . their life . . . especially because fate . . . and misinterpreted information had caused him to choose to sacrifice when none was needed.

Stupid.

STUPID!

**STUPID!!!!!!**

All of her anger—

All of her hatred—

All of her rage—

Be it that which had been aimed at Shego—

Or be it that had been directed at Bonnie—

Or be it, that that had been caused by Carla—

It all condensed—

Focused!

Now all it needed now was a target—

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Kim's sobbing suddenly stopped. She realized that she had collapsed straight down onto the ground—but strong arms—bare arms, were holding her—

Kim realized that she was in her dad's arms, for it was her dad's voice that was talking to Wade's—

And something had just been said—

"What?" Kim asked in a horse voice even as she pulled back against her father's arms.

"Kimmy," her dad, his own voice filled with rage and grief and pain and denial and—

"What did you just say Wade!" and Kim's voice snapped like a bullwhip across anything that they might say or try to tell her—

Although a world of hesitation and fear still sat in Wade's reply, "the device is still working Kim. It hasn't started to put out the negative field yet. But what working sensors I have say that it's apparently 'rebooted' and that it's in its warm-up stage."

"How Wade," asked a voice that came from Kim Possible's body, but was not her—

_Cause she's dead!_

"I—I don't know," was Wades reply.

"Kimmy," she heard her father say, "you should take it easy—"

"Let go of me please," was the reply for that.

And the arms around her released.

Kim Possible stood up, now mindless to the pain and abuses to her body.

_A dead body can't feel_

She glanced at her father. Any other time, she might even have laughed at his appearance. All that was left of his clothes was his shoes, his boxers and the collar of his shirt with tie still attached. But there was a great open cut on one side of his forehead with thick drying blood all down that side of his face and the nearby eye swollen shut. Her dad was leaning heavily into one side and, pushing himself up onto his feet, he was using a broken piece of wood like a crutch.

"Kim," her dad tried again, eye desperately trying to reach her.

"How much time to we have Wade," asked the same dead voice.

There was another hesitation . . .

"Wade?"

"I—I don't know . . . but I don't think its long."

"I'd better go and take a look."

"Kim," and now the desperation was plain in her dads voice. "You've done enough! Let someone else do it."

"WHO," she turned and screamed the word at her father. "Who else do you see around right now who could do, who would recognize the proper button to push or lever to pull on a device made by Drakken—"

"Kim!" Monique sounded as if she wanted to get down on her knees and plead! "Don't let yourself get swept away by—"

_Dead people don't have to listen_

And it cut off as Kim abruptly turned around and started to walk toward the wreckage of the two armored cars and fire truck.

Neither MrDrP nor Wade was in any condition to try and follow. Even with Monique's swollen leg—

"Stop her Monique," MrDrP did plead. "Don't let her grief—"

"It already has sir," Monique replied with a voice as dead as what they had heard from Kim. "And she will kill anyone who tries to stop her at this point. And even if you somehow knocked her out from behind her back— " Monique let the inference hang—

_Dead Girl Walking—_

Then Monique pulled her shoulders back and took a deep (painful) breath—

"But I wont let her do it alone—" and the black girl started to limp painfully after her friend.

The two males looked after the two females—

"Wade," and again there was pleading in MrDrP's voice, "do what you can to see if my wife is alive and safe . . . and if possible get her here. If Kim survives whatever she's about to do—"

Wade swallowed, "I—I don't think she intends to survive—" and his voice shook as he said it.

"Her body may survive," and James Possible's voice was now that of death. "If that happens, we have to start immediately on rescuing her mind and self and my wife—" and he had to stop as if tasting a bitter truth—"is better at that with her than I am."

"Yes sir."

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It was like it walking in a fog—until the object you were searching for suddenly emerged from it.

Then Kim realized that she was standing in the smoking, flaming rubble of the warehouse—she wasn't even aware just how hard her body had been coughing from the smoke, and how that jarred her ribs, sending waves of pain that should have caused her to bend double—how some of the fires had gotten close enough to blister her already damaged fair skin—

None of it mattered—

The only things that did matter—

The device had been damaged. Considering what it had looked like before, it had to be damaged severely. All of its outer controls, all of its exterior shielding and casements were gone. Only a twisted internal structure and the coil on the top existed—

It was the coil, all of the size of a residential trashcan that was humming . . . and had just the tiniest edges to it that looked like a 'black glow'.

Kim had to knock out the coil.

Kim thought back, about how many times she, or sometimes R—R—R—

And a sob escaped the battle steel armor—

It took a moment—

How many times she or sometimes her love—

DAMNIT! HOW LONG HAD SHE BEEN UNABLE TO SAY THAT!!!! AND NOW HE WAS—

How many times had she or sometimes her best friend/boyfriend had short-circuited some mad device—or some other calamity . . . ALL of which had resulted in some huge—she remembered the explosion that had happened in this very warehouse over a year before from Drakken's self-destruct device—

Evil machines always went out with some massive building/lair destroying, ground shaking explosion . . . it was one of the requirements in the villain's manual. For the first time in her existence, Kim looked forward to—

Through watering eyes, through the thick smoke, with the heat from the fires searing all her bare skin—Kim looked around—

She saw what she was looking for.

Blasted loose from one wall, but still mostly intact, the piece of rebar would work perfectly. Kim reached over and grabbed it, having to grit her teeth and keep from screaming as the heat of it blistered her hands even through her gloves.

But the pain was the trigger—

The blessed, demanded, wanted, needed trigger—

As—

All that anger—

All that hated—

All that rage—

All that pain—

All that grief—

Like a taunt bowstring being let go—

Kim Possible whipped around, a scream of total thunderous grief and rage tearing from her throat. She thrust with the rebar—

It speared the top glowing coil causing a sudden rainbow of sparks and snaps of discharges, the very air of the 'reality' that existed to/with/about/around the core shimmed and wavered like a disturbed surface of water—

Even as Kim took the other end and after a deliberate moment in which her eyes/face/being nova'ed with all the emotions of her last moments on Earth—

_Ron! I'm coming my love—_

And the teen hero of Middleton Colorado, savior of the world more times than could be counted, jammed the other end of the rebar down into a torn open floor box by where the edge of the pre-destroyed device once stood—

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Everybody within reach/hearing that were still able to move dropped in panic as an enormous '**CRACK'** erupted from the smoke shrouded building that had been Drakken's warehouse, bolts of lightning shot skywards, discharging in a frantic battle with all the static and free energy still floating around . . . even as a glowing object about the size of a residential trashcan shot skyward—

And it exploded like a thunderclap!

Nothing was left—not even debris.

After a moment . . . when there were no further sounds, no further indication of anything else . . . the survivors and the arriving rescuers started once again about their business.

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The explosion had caused Monique to duck . . . but it had also caused her to ignore her pain and lamed leg, pushing herself just as hard as she could to get into the wreckage of Drakken's warehouse, get in and help her friend. She was having to shy away from the fires, holding one hand over her mouth/nose to try to keep at least some of the smoke out.

But that same smoke was making her eyes water, at times she almost couldn't see the floor before her to keep from stumbling over wreckage. But she kept going, instinct, fear and something else telling her that she had to get to Kim NOW!

Then she found an area where it seemed that all the fires had gone out, the smoke, as if it had been pushed out by a pressure wave and was only now making its way back in—Monique realized that she was back in the main room of the warehouse, the room where Drakken's device—

And she stopped short when she suddenly realized that on the floor in front of her—

Kim's body was actually 'smoking' . . . although it took Monique a moment to realize that it was really what remained of Kim's clothing and things like the tips of her hair from where the tendrils of gray rose.

But Kim was down . . . unmoving . . . with her features . . . her complexion . . .

Kim was dead.

Cold horror and consummate grief threatened to overcome Monique Raven . . .

But something . . . SOMETHING deep within her was screaming for her attention . . .

Then Monique realized . . . Kim's hands were smoking . . . and they were burned . . . and Kim's hair . . . the ends all frizzed out—

With a jolt, Monique realized just what had happened, Kim had been electrocuted! And Monique's excellent time sense told her that there was still time to save—

But . . . . . . Kim didn't want to be saved. Kim had literally just committed suicide. Kim had just gotten her wish to join Ron somewhere beyond human senses. Monique couldn't possibly—

But Monique knew it was wrong. She knew that Kim knew that what she had done was wrong. Monique knew that only rage and grief had driven Kim to do what she had just—

But did Monique have the right? Did she—

Kim had come into this room wanting/intending to die—

But then . . . . . . the young girl who had come into this room had been in no way in her right mind—

Monique screamed inside—she knew that she was running out of time and she didn't know what to **DO!**

Monique teetered on the brink—

Then, she followed her heart and her gut. Monique was down, her knees burning from the hot floor right through her ruined clothing. She started the procedure as she had been trained when she had become Assistant Manager for her Club Banana. Although she hadn't practiced it since then, it seemed to come to her automatically, the chest compressions (with ironic thoughts flashing through Monique's mind about her and Kim's earlier conversation about the comparative size of their chests) with the rescue breathing. Monique thanked everything/everybody for the fact that the air at the point where she was had been blasted free enough of smoke for her to work without coughing.

Time blended . . . fused. Monique had no idea just how long she had worked on Kim, but she would do it until she passed out, hoping against hope that Kim's dad might have snagged someone to come and help her out—

But Monique knew that was unlikely and that the final outcome—

Then Kim coughed in Monique's face and the black girl was so startled that she almost peed her pants. She lurched upright staring down—

Kim's eyes came open, even as coughing wracked her for several seconds—

Monique felt joy soar within her—she had done it!

Kim's eyes seemed to look around without even seeing her friend bent over her. The gaze in them was distant, disbelieving . . .

Then, despite all those injuries, Kim rolled over onto her side away from Monique—

And Monique realized that words were coming from Kim Possible. Monique had to lean in close to hear—

"It was supposed to explode. They always explode. It was suppose to do that. It was suppose to do that and take me to Ron. Why didn't it blow up? Why didn't it take me with it—take me to Ron? Why? I want to go to Ron. Why? It didn't blow everything up. I have to get to Ron. Why didn't it destroy everything? Why—"

The voice was questioning, wondering, failing to understand—it was that of a very little child wondering why its kitty wasn't moving after the car had rolled over it.

That tone—that voice, continued in the same repeated phrasing even after Monique had gathered her best girlfriend into her arms and tired without hope of providing some kind of comfort, the joy she had felt gone like the smoke, and a terrible sense of misplaced responsibility roaring through her—

Because now Monique knew that her best girlfriend would never know comfort . . . or peace . . . or the love of a boy/man . . .

Because hers, was someplace she wasn't . . . and she just couldn't get there right now.

And it was all Monique's fault.


	41. Dwelling on Chaos

Middleton Colorado:

There wasn't a building that wasn't wrecked or burning for almost three miles around the center of the blast site that had been the villain timeshare owned by Saul Ethome which had been used as the lair of a mad Doctor who was once known as Drakken. The latest (and last wave) of fire trucks and ambulances had just been in the process of arriving (or within blocks) when the last blast occurred. Most of the vehicles caught in the blast area were wrecked . . . most of the personnel had survived with little to minor damage—

But those personnel had started assisting those closest to them as they managed to get back into action. They also put out frantic calls for more assistance—

The rest of Middleton rocked from both the blast and the ground shock. Pieces of buildings, vehicles, equipment . . . and other more gruesome things . . . fell for miles around. A couple of fishermen in Lake Middleton, looked over at the distant explosion as if they were seeing Vesuvius erupting . . . only to look up at the last minute as a desk from the obliterated command post trailer came crashing down to land in the water close enough to soak them—

For the moment, emergency services including overwhelmed Middleton Medical Center managed to hold their own, concentrating on those patients already within their walls. but a massive new wave was coming. All ambulances and emergency equipment which had been away from the blast site at the various medical facilities, or on the roads but far enough away as not to be damaged were quickly overwhelmed—and they would stay that way for some time—

Because unless Upperton and Lowerton totally and completely stripped their own cities of their remaining emergency service assets, which they were not going to do having no clue as to what had 'really' happened in Middleton and therefore, not knowing if they could 'be next' . . .

So help would have to come farther—

And it would take a long time in coming . . . too long for many.

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Anne Possible lay on her back, staring up at the smoke filled sky—

Mind voluntarily blank because there was too much in her right now that caused pain.

There had been only a moments warning to get down before the blast had hit. She had been in the process of closing up an incision from an emergency field surgery trying to save a female Federal Agents life—

Anne had literally thrown herself across the torso of her patient in an attempt to protect her—

The blast had ripped the medical tent and everything inside of it away—

When she regained consciousness, Anne was face down, literal inside of a pile of ass-over-teakettle bodies, one of her lower legs cocked at a crazy askew angle, those under/about/above her crying and attempting to move which only caused someone else to cry out—

She wasn't sure just how long she had lain in that mass of injured humanity. She could feel other injuries to her own body but none of them felt life threatening—

But she couldn't move—and the weight . . . was crushing—

Anne didn't have a clue how much time had passed when finally, the bodies on top of her was finally pulled away. Her impression through her own haze of pain and shock was that her rescuers where as torn and ravaged as anybody else . . . except they were mobile. She was pulled out of the ruin of the medical tent and placed on a stretcher, carried for some distance, then laid crudely onto the bare pavement of another parking lot—

And left there—along with others like her, injured, immobile, untreated or even examined.

That was when it really struck home. Emergency services had been broken—

Completely broken—

And finally, after several minutes of lying on her back, staring up at the smoke, hearing the sounds of pain around her, Anne Possible, through her own fog, rolled over . . . ignoring the tearing agony that it caused, and despite her stomach being ready to heave, she forced herself up onto her hands and knees—

And dragging the broken leg, she started to examine those immediately around her, tearing off already torn strips of clothing to be used as bandages or restraints—

In other words . . . despite her own injuries . . . she got back to work—

It was the only way for her to fight back the fear of being the only survivor against the unknown that had devoured her husband, daughter, almost son-in-law and his companion and a young girl who was a dear friend—

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And far out amid the lesser wrecked buildings . . . on top of a roof where he had landed on a dirty, torn sofa brought up for the shops cigarette smokers—

A little dirty somewhat pink figure stirred.

Large eyes opened, looking out at the towers of black smoke back in the direction from which he had come.

Those eyes then closed; there was too much pain in such a little heart—

Memories, feelings—all of it turning to pain because—

Because— . . . . . .

. . . . . . because—

something wasn't right—

. . . . . . because through that . . . feeling . . . the little guy could still—

And if a bat-out-of-hell could be pink, naked and transported on four frantic legs that were trying to break the sound barrier—

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Monique considered moving, as the ruins of the building behind her were now fully engulfed in flames and embers were raining down about her even as the heat on her back was beginning to feel . . . well—way too hot.

But Monique couldn't bring herself to disturb the dead—because the dead girl with her head in Monique's lap wasn't . . . really dead . . . . . .

More than an hour, maybe two, had passed since Monique had almost had to carry her friend Kim Possible out of the rubble of what had been Drakken's warehouse. Kim would stand for her if asked . . . for a second anyway before sinking listlessly to the ground into a weeping blob—

So the entire way, Monique had to beg and plead to get Kim to walk, and even then, Monique had to guide them all the way despite her bad leg. Once outside, in what was passing for late morning sunlight—

Monique almost died herself when she realized that Kim's eyes, for they were open . . . staring sightlessly at something Monique could not see . . .

. . . they had lost all their color—

Almost like dead fish eyes they were, cold, staring . . . unseeing.

Monique screamed, sobbed, blubbered . . . all on the inside, not that her friend could have heard her if she had let it all out. It had been all Monique could do to try to increase their pace—if for no other reason than Monique wanting to escape that blank, dead look, those lifeless, colorless eyes, all of which Monique was now convinced was her fault.

Kim's dad of course had seen them coming, but was unable to really get to them to help through all the rubble. He had done all he could do, he sat down and waited, only to reach up with his bloody burned arms when Monique finally reached them and MrDrP allowed his daughter to collapse into him—

With no more reaction from her than a slab of meat hitting the floor.

The three of them remained there for a bit, Monique doing what she could to tend to both Kim's and MrDrP's injuries.

Then a bit later some government 'official' types that MrDrP knew from the Space Center arrived—

They were courteous and very firm. But as they patiently explained both the state and national capitals were calling, demanding an explanation for what had happened. MrDrP refused on good, reasonable grounds—

They were courteous and firm, bodily picking up MrDrP despite his protests, one gently pulling Kim's limp form away and two holding a screaming, spitting, clawing Monique, finally giving the black girl the choice of remaining to take care of Kim, or of being hauled away leaving her friend inert on the ground—

Monique had asked them to at least help get Kim farther away from the burning warehouses—which they had courteously agreed to, stating firmly that that was all they were going to do.

That had been . . . a while ago for by what little was visible of the sun through the smoke, it was at least early afternoon. And the building they had been moved over by was burning worse then the ones they had fled.

The rest of the parking lot that had been the command post/staging area was almost bare . . . if you didn't count the wreckage and the corpses simply covered with jackets or other articles of clothing. Monique had watched listlessly over the period as the walking wounded had gathered the immobile and had taken them away down the driveway toward where the distant relocated medical area had been set up.

Wade had never come back from looking for Kim's mom.

_Like all those movies about the end of the world,_ Monique thought. _And maybe it has. Maybe there isn't a part of the city that wasn't destroyed by this . . . monster._ She then looked down at the head in her lap which Monique could see still had its eyes open, its stare still dead, still glassy. _Your world ended didn't it Kim; and you ended—_Monique found that she couldn't even finish the thought. She looked back up and around at the devastation, _maybe it's better this way. Maybe its better that since your world is gone Kim, that it's only fair that the rest of it follows._

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Every time someone had tried to tell Anne Possible to take a break or seek treatment for her own injuries, they had gotten a look that could have melted the paint on tank armor—

But now, as she wheeled herself around the reestablished triage area in a commandeered wheelchair, she knew that she had hit the wall, that she was no longer 'safe', that her own pain, fatigue and grief were such that she was becoming a danger to the injured rather than an asset.

But she was so very frightened that if she went down—that she wouldn't be able to get back up. That her injuries would turn out to be bad enough that she would have to be restricted—

That her grief would well up enough that she would fall to pieces—

It had been hours since the blast! And not one word from or about her family—

It was like the end of the world—

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When his vision slowly cleared, Wade realized that he was lying on his side in a pile of . . . stuff.

His last memory was that his head had been reeling and his eyes crossing when someone had run by him, almost knocking him over, spinning him around which was all that had been needed for him to completely loose it. He had the impression of falling over something . . . looking about him he realized that it was probably the low wall now above him . . .

Wade looked around and determined that he was in an inclined walkway that was apparently going down into a 'basement' of one of the buildings. He had landed on stacks of bundled, probably recycled paper.

The position of the sun told him—

Wade tried to snap upright, his head rolling a little but pain, stiffness and the bulks of paper about hindering him to no end.

It took him a couple of minutes, but he was able to climb out—

He knew that hours had passed. It had done some good for he felt, except for the pain and stiffness, almost normal—

But what had happened while he was out?

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James Possible seethed inside as he was driven back toward the center of the Middleton disaster. He couldn't believe the sheer, unmitigated gall of those men. Sure a nuclear device had been set off in the center of a city in the continental United States. Sure a Mad Scientists World Destroying device had come very nearly to achieving its ends. Sure, many were dead and probably a thousand were wounded and the world news media was in a frenzy—

"Stupid politicians have no sense of priorities," he growled, not caring if the driver had heard him or not. He knew that a lot of his anger was the fact that he had felt that he had gotten special treatment while others were still suffering (that was according to the TV he—and everybody else at the center was watching every moment they could). The Center's medical staff had done their best to fix him up, stitching the wound on his forehead, abrading his other cuts and burns, putting a soft cast on his leg and wrapping his bruised ribs. He had been even able to get his work coveralls out of his office so that he had something decent to wear—

And every single bit of it bothered him.

So much was bothering him right now—

The incident perimeter was by the time he got back, a couple of miles from the center, being manned by local national guardsmen—

Which was fortunate because they knew him, and that allowed them to pass him through the perimeter despite orders to let no one in.

James Possible could understand the need—for the closer they got to the center, the more like the end of the world it looked.

The world had ended for his daughter—

His own was teetering on the unknowns of his wife—

He feared tomorrow.

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Monique knew that she had no choice. She could feel the hair on the back of her head starting to curl and singe. She closed her eyes, said a little prayer and—

"Kim, I'm sorry, but . . . we're gonna haveta move—"

"It's okay Mo, I understand." And with that, Kim pushed herself up out of Monique's lap. The black girl could only stare in fright/amazement/startlement—

The voice was Kim's—cold and unfeeling. The face . . . like that of a statue. The eyes, colorless—dead.

After a moment, those eyes flicked at Monique and she felt agony and pity and regret and shame rend her heart at the momentary flash of what had once been her friend Kim that had just passed through those awful eyes. But still, no emotion on that face underlined the toneless words that came next.

"Forgive me Mo for being so weak. Ron (and there was worlds of pain in that word) would be very disappointed with me if I just allowed myself to lay down and die. He would want me to go on—" and so much was left unsaid as the ravaged form of Monique's girlfriend slowly climbed up onto its feet.

Monique almost cried out in despair as she saw that Kim then glanced skyward—

Glanced at the spot she had last seen her love—

Then that cold face and those dead eyes were looking back at Monique, and Kim was helping her to her feet. Monique knew as she felt Kim grip her that the pain in her friend's hands had to be terrible from the burns—

None of it passed on her friends face.

_I'm so sorry Kim,_ Monique raged to herself. _I've given you life in Hell. How can you go on like this Kim, Will the light ever come back into your face? Will you're eyes ever sparkle green again? Can any time heal what has happened to you here and now? Will you ever recover enough to forgive me for not allowing you what your heart wanted?_

Something again flickered behind those dead eyes as if the mind there read what had been going on in Monique's thoughts.

And a little shake of Kim's head, gave Monique her answer.

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Major Rap Pell USAF; hadn't stopped cursing since he had gotten into the AO. He was the senior instructor for SAR (Search And Rescue Operations) at the Air Force Academy at Colorado Springs. He felt a motherly tenderness toward the boys and girls in his charge which only bordered on depravity rather than outright sadism but he had never thought he would have to take them into a back room of Hell like this before they were properly prepared. Many of them had graduated to young men and women today (and a few had had to be quietly shuffled off to the side so the pieces could start to be put back together), but they and the other arriving units still had way too much affected area to enter and clear of trapped and injured.

Right now, they were moving into an area that they had been trying to locate since their arrival—as there might be brethren left alive somewhere amid the burning hulks of helo's and Global Justice Hovercraft. His two sergeants started to split his people into new groups/partners while his junior lieutenant worked with the rescue dogs and FD people setting up the search grid and areas of responsibility.

He stood and surveyed the carnage, wondering not for the first time in this kind of situation how anyone could survive anything in this kind of an environment, his eyes/head sweeping the entire expanse of the lot from left to right, noting potential dangers and potential spots where someone might have survived—

His head was turned all the way to the right when something like a buzz saw hit him square in the chest and started up toward his face—

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Wade felt lost.

He had apparently gotten turned around before his 'episode' and had gone off in a bad direction. Now, hours later, after wandering about a bit to reorient himself (his Over-Load unable to get a fix until near the end of his wanderings due to the massive electrical interference), he had returned to where the 'medical' area had been before the blast to find the conditions there worse than before.

All that was left were the dead . . . who were finally being attended to, and the wreckage. Closing those visions out of his mind, Wade was forced to use his Over-Load to try and find out where the 'new' staging areas were. The signal was intermittent but he was able to get a probably lock on it. Wade then had to walk several blocks, getting lost again amid the wreaked buildings, many still burning, forcing him to divert and try other ways to get to his goal.

What he found caused him to get near to the point of being overwhelmed for despite everything he had done with and for Kim and Ron, except for the Diablo situation, he had never been confronted directly and personally with danger let alone a devastated reality of this magnitude.

There were hundreds of injured and the numbers of arriving medical and rescue personnel was reaching the same level as helicopter after helicopter arrived from the rest of Colorado. It was all Wade could do to stand and gape at the sight. And after a long moment, he knew that he was defeated. His single attempt to try and hook into a communications net had connected him with an exhausted, short-tempered fire command post operator whose language had blistered Wades ears when he had tried to ask politely about Kim's mom.

He didn't know what to do.

Then the Over-Load beeped. Listlessly Wade pulled it out—

And what it told him shocked him to his very core. He hesitated—he was by himself—he wasn't sure what he should do—he didn't know what the right thing to do was because what the Over-Load was telling him, while not impossible, meant things that Wade did not/could not think about right now.

But Wade also knew that he couldn't ignore it. So he started the Over-Load in tracking mode and started to follow it—

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James Possible didn't know what bothered him more. His irritation with the fact that almost the entire disaster scene was still a hopeless mass on unorganized chaos (which rubbed so hard against his methodical/orderly manner) so that no one could tell him where his daughter was or if any information was available about his wife (other than to his great relief that she was alive) or his horror and almost physical sickness at what it was he was seeing.

He knew that in his intensely controlled scientifically dictated environment, that while accidents happened and even sometimes injuries and maybe a very very rare death occurred in a test or experiment, there was still a . . . cold 'scientific' aspect to his world that allowed him to handle those incidents with a professional detachment.

And the thoughts reverberated throughout his entire being that his young teenage daughter had been in countless situations such as this and maybe even worse—

If he had had any real idea—

And now his daughters boyfriend, the young man who would have someday probably would have been her husband and his son-in-law . . . was dead—

A part of him, and he hated himself for it, almost welcomed Ron's death . . . for maybe now, after seeing what he had seen today, maybe his little Kimmy-cub would retire from her world saving and become a scientist like him and her brothers. Those genes had to be in her somewhere; all he needed was the foundation to bring them out—

Someone 'nudged' into him as if they had been crossing behind him and had not quite made the gap between him and the car that brought him. James Possible heard a young, distracted voice say "excuse me—"

But he knew that voice—

"Wade?" and the relief was plain in his voice. This outstanding young man would know were both his wife and his daughter were and would be able to take him right too—

Except the outstanding young man was staring up at him with a startled deer-in-the-headlight look that spoke more than James Possible wanted to know. He felt fresh anticipation and fear clench his insides even as he asked, "what is it Wade? What are you doing that has you so . . . upset?"

"It's this sir," and Wade displayed the screen of the Over-Load . . . which of course meant nothing to James. But the young boys look was that of being overwhelmed by all of it, everything there was, the totality . . . and that same young boy had suddenly in the madness . . . found someone he knew . . . and that young man needed desperately to let some of the past hours go—

"What is it Wade?" James asked as gently as he could.

"The interference in the atmosphere has finally cleared enough . . . it's a reading on the chip sir."

James stared at the young man for a long moment trying to decipher the meaning. Finally . . . "I don't understand Wade."

Tears were starting down the boy's cheeks as it seemed that the reality of it all was finally starting to make itself known to him. "The tracking chip I embedded in Ron sir, I've got a weak but definite signal lock."

James processed this and while sometimes he was slow when it came to personal interaction and social dynamics, given time he usually could get it— "on Ron," he asked even more gently, "or . . . on his . . . on where he fell?"

Wade looked back to the Over-Load. "I don't know," and the frustration was filling his entire tone. "It may be the residual atmospherics, but I've only got a very general directional lock . . . and no telemetry at all—" and those last words were filled with waves of pain and grief—Wade waved over in the direction of the original command area. "It's somewhere over there. And I at this point, I can't tell how far—" and Wade had to stop, one hand coming up to his forehead to gather himself even as James placed one of his own on the boys shoulders for support.

"Considering the strength of the blast," Wade said in a sad tone at last, "I'm afraid . . . really afraid . . . of what I'll find . . . "

James considered it all for a moment, and then he realized what Wade meant. Given the strength of the blast and the fact that most of it had gone up, it was a very real possibility that his daughter's boyfriend must have been—

James gripped Wades shoulder firmly. "Let's go see . . . we'll take my car and driver," he said in his most fatherly tone. Wade just nodded and with his eyes going back to the Over-Load, the two of them climbed into the nearby car and the driver started it off.

Wade rode between the two men, his concentration of the Over-Load. Because of that, he could not see James's face and the blank look on it. James Possible expected to find the chip and nothing else. But at least he would have that . . . and the certainty that went with it to bring back to his daughter.

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The sun was westering when Anne Possible forced her eyes open—

And she regretted it instantly for it meant that she was awake the pain . . . both in her . . . and that which was inside of her, sprang at her last defenses as if they knew they were ready to come down. She had always prided herself on her ability to handle stress and strain . . . but the past day . . . and the weeks and months that had preceded it, together with her fatigue and physical pain, had at last eroded her iron will and eternal optimism.

Part of it was that Anne had purposely refused pain medication or a sedative as she lay on a blanket on the hard ground with a trash bag as a pillow. She would not allow herself to be 'out' or fuzzy headed. Too much was going on, too much was still up in the air—

Too much had made itself known to her . . . she had by now heard enough talk and gossip to know—

Her husband was alive . . . but taken away by the government—

Her daughter was alive . . . but—

Her daughter's best friend/boyfriend was dead—making the final sacrifice so that all might live.

Anne . . . for one of the very few times in her life since that incident in her teen hood, was at a loss . . . and like that same far past incident, it was a loss so complete and encompassing that she was actually afraid to do anything lest she trigger some other consequence.

Anne, regretting and wincing at each effort and/or movement, forced herself upwards onto her downside hip. She panted a moment at the effort, then raised her head and looked about.

She was . . . she couldn't say 'surprised and happy' by what she saw but at least she could grunt that at last it looked as if things were starting to come together. The area was now surrounded by military and emergency vehicles from cities and towns she had only heard of or passed by on the interstate. It appeared as if organization had at last grown out of chaos and the vast field of injured was being addressed. It also looked as if a good sized tent/mobile vehicle eval/treatment facility was at last being set up and that everyone was slowly being funneled, either by foot, wheelchair or litter toward there. As Anne was about in the middle of the swath of injured humanity in the section for broken bones/minor injuries, it would be some time before they got over her way.

And she knew . . . in the physical and mental condition she was in, that there was no way that she would now be allowed back into operations . . .

She had to find her daughter . . . and go home to start the waiting for her husband . . . and the mourning for her almost Son-in-Law.

But her leg was still in the cardboard emergency field splint, and her wheelchair had not so mysteriously vanished. She grunted an annoyed sound. She knew that she could get to her feet without the chair to steady her but she wasn't looking forward to doing it. And she would need something like a cane or a crutch to keep her on her feet once up.

Anne glanced about her again but this time focusing on the near-at-hand and those moving about to see if one of them could help her find her what she needed—

And her gaze locked on the half hurrying form of a young black girl in torn bloody clothing who had her own gaze locked on Anne like a homing missile. Anne of course breathed a sigh of relief to know at least that this young friend had lived, but as the young girl wore a face as torn as her clothing from too much grief, anguish and pain (too much a mirror of what was inside of Anne).

Anne said nothing as the girl walked up to her. The fear of doing something, anything without knowing first froze her where she lay.

Monique just held out a hand and in a choked voice (although she was trying valiantly to make a small smile), "thank God that you and Kim are the only two in Middleton I think with hair that red. I've been looking for hours it seems but once you sat up—"

Monique made herself stop because she was going to start babbling again if she didn't. She then forced herself to say very quietly, very calmly, very desperately—"Kim needs you. I . . . " and Anne recoiled at the look/tone of Monique, but only for a moment before she reached out for the black girl—"Mo, what is it?"

Despite a desperate attempt to fight it back, the forces inside of Monique burst out enough for a despondent wail—

"I saved Kim . . . and at the same time . . . I think I killed her—"

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MrDrP and Wade Load stood side by side, Wade with the Over-Load out in front of him, a look of disbelief and fear of wanting to hope, "y—y—you d—don't think—?" Wade managed to stutter.

James, with a matching look on his face, didn't make any indication at all. "Can you tell where inside—?"

"Yeah," Wade said as his fingers flipped on the keys, "sensors have improved the farther away we've gotten from the blast site." He finished what he was—"looks to me like the chip is down in the basement . . . still no telemetry."

James felt his heart sink. For they were standing . . . of all places, in front of Middleton Medical Center. Wild, unrealistic hopes had been warring in the pair as they approached the area and those same feelings were now being refused and denied simply because neither of them could believe it—

But . . . if it was in the basement—James didn't know if Wade realized it . . . but hospital basements are almost always were their morgues are located—

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"Kim . . . honey—"

"sokay mom,"

Anne Possible was ready to wrap herself around her daughter . . . if for no other reason than allow her own damn to burst, releasing her own grief, loss, fear and a host of other things that she knew was killing her inside . . .

And Anne wanted to do it in the desperate hope that in doing so . . . would cause her oldest child's barriers to do the same, allowing all those same emotions even though they might be a million times worse than hers, making it a billion times more important that they be let out—

But Kim was a dried eyed, monotone statue that hadn't said more than three words in a sentence when she even spoke at all. Anne had been trying to reach her since she had walked with Monique's help into the small exam enclosure set aside for her daughter by the medical staff. Anne thought she had been ready for the moment after Monique had unburdened herself to her out in the lot . . . but nothing would ever allow a mother to 'be ready' for what she found to be all that was left of her oldest child. Kim wouldn't even lie down on the gurney. She had sat, the entire time, even before Anne's arrival, while the staff had been redressing her cuts, debrideing all of her abrasions and other places where debris had lodged into her skin, treating the blistered burns that haphazardly covered her body, removing with painstaking care the remains of her gloves which had been burned into the palms and fingers of her hands. Anne had been worse than appalled, she didn't think she had ever seen her daughter with no part of her body red, black, blue or bloody—

But it wasn't Kim's body that had Anne beyond hopelessness. _They say that time heals all,_ Anne thought as she and her daughter's best girlfriend assisted the listless teen into a set of hospital scrubs, replacing her ruined clothing. _But is healing possible when a full half of all of who and what you are is ripped out of you for no good reason._

And with a sidelong glance at Kim's best girlfriend of course the fact that what has happened to Kim is killing Monique at the same time. _She can't even accept just how grateful I am that she brought Kim back so that we at least have the chance to try and help Kim, to 'bring her back' when the time and situation is right._

Even though both Monique and Anne were having trouble walking because of their respective leg injuries, between the two of them, they were able to get Kim up off the side of the gurney and through the curtains into the makeshift corridor. Kim was able to at least nod appreciatively at the staff that was waiting and thank them for their care and concern. A liaison waited to help the trio out to where a small electric cart could transport them to the perimeter where a vehicle would be waiting to take them to Middleton hospital where an x-ray would confirm if Kim's ribs were cracked (or damaged further from Monique's CPR), and her mother could be attended to.

The three of them moved to the end of the corridor and turned to the way out, Monique and her mother each holding a hand gently to Kim's elbow giving both comfort and direction—

But at the tents opening, Kim stopped . . . and after a moment . . . gently . . . first one—then the other, pulled her elbows out of her friends/mothers grip. Monique and Anne looked at each other and the glance was understood because Kim's head came up . . . and there was a deep, shaking breath before Kim stepped off . . . unsupported . . . on her own out of the tent. She turned when the liaison indicated they should head to the right—

With another glance at each other, tears brimming just under the surface of brown and sapphire eyes . . . then the adult put a comforting hand on the teens shoulder—the teen leaned into the adult . . . and the two of them started, turning to follow the liaison and the stiff-backed, stilted walked red headed teen ahead of them.

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She who had once been Kim Possible . . . she who had once been deeply in love with her oldest and truest friend . . . she who now looked forward to a life of existence only; managed to remember to thank the volunteer who assisted her into the wheelchair in the preliminary triage area in the middle of the parking lot of the Middleton Medical Center. The old gentleman even draped a blanket over her shoulders against the coolness of the fall evening. He then started to push her toward the far ER doors.

The young red heads mind actually functioned after a fashion. For her colorless, lifeless eyes had fixed unerringly on the window of the hospital room that she had slept in the night before. The same room she and her young man had had their last close, intimate moment together . . . only twelve hours previously. To an infinitesimally tiny flame that still burned very deep within her, it did not seem possible that the entire world had changed so much in as little as half a day. The flame wanted to scream—cry out to the universe—plea that this was all a cruel dream brought on by side effects of Drakken's mad machine—

The tiny flame was going out—despite its valiant fight against entropy—at the end of all things.

There was nothing left to keep it burning.

Then Kim realized that she was actually being wheeled into the ER, all the distance between this moment and her last discernable awareness jumping forward like a piece of film with the part in between edited out.

She realized that the staff was staring at her . . .

Despite their obvious harassment/exhaustion/preoccupation . . .

The chief RN came out from behind the counter and actually said her name. She didn't respond, she felt shame and a sense of worthlessness, just as Ron's death had in the end, been worthless. The RN looked back past her as she was wheeled by . . . and she knew that the RN had to be speaking to her mother who along with Monique, had been behind her all the time—

The passing thought of Monique caused her to remembered what she had said to Ron that morning about how scared she had been with the possibility of going through life without him or even worse, if he had stayed in the comatose vegetable state he had been in after saving Bonnie . . .

Now that cruel possibility had come to be—and how she wished that he had never come out of that coma or trance or whatever it was because then—at least then, she would have had his body to hold as Monique wanted to hold Felix.

And right now, she hated Monique for that . . . as she hated Monique for—

The doctor who had treated her had asked many many questions which Kim had just ignored. But the doctor then had to demand the answers from the only person who might know them, and Monique had been forced to answer—

Kim had also figured out why her chest hurt and felt bent and abused above and beyond what the rest of her body felt. She had heard the doctor when they ran tests on her heart and asked her about the burns on her hands. She didn't have to be the daughter of a brain surgeon and a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened, why she wasn't dead like she wanted to be.

The frightened guilty look on Monique's face confirmed it.

Now . . . . . Kim would have to face tomorrow—

She knew that Ron had been blown into—nothing of his remains would be recovered. The casket would be empty—

Just like all her tomorrows—

Ron had just helped her find them—now she had lost them both.

The tears, the sobs begged to be released from her—

But she wouldn't. For she had been cheated . . . and she had done it to herself . . . she had crossed herself in the worst possible way—

She hadn't just surrendered to the darkness that she had always defied, she had dove headlong into it, begging for it to take her, wanting/trying to die so badly that when it didn't happen; only now, in the hereafter, did she realize . . . did she understand just how badly she had behaved, how she had purposely violated all of her principles and beliefs—

And the darkness? It had laughed in her face, flung her out of its maw and walked away cruelly laughing.

And the agent of its actions was even more cruelly . . . her best girlfriend—

And the fact that she now hated Monique . . .

It only reinforced and augmented the fact that . . .

Now Kim hated herself more than she had when she had been at her lowest depths—

For the little flame had gone out.

Kim . . . now . . . then . . . where . . . since that part of her knew what she had done . . . and she knew now in the afterward of what had happened . . . and she knew what she would have to do in the future . . . she knew that she could never again take that plunge . . . She was imprisoned . . . the madness over . . . and something told her that once she had taken that plunge once, it would never return despite the fact that she desperately wished to die so that she could join her love. So she was caught in her own self-made trap, caught between her desire and her principles, not to give in to the darkness again. She would be forced to live out her life in its entirety—hating every minute of it.

So in punishment, Kim would hold it all in. There would be no solace, no grieving by her. For if she did, if she allowed herself the luxury of cleansing grief, she might at some point in the far future . . . come to understand and possibly accept at least some of what had happened this day . . . and from there move on to a new life (but never another love). But the complete and totally useless, completely unnecessary, reasonless death of Ron Stoppable made that impossible.

Time jerked forward again and Kim realized that she was sitting in an exam room, still in the wheelchair. Something told her that she wasn't alone (she suspected that Monique was behind her) and she again didn't have a clue how much time had passed. She had vague memory glimpses of the hallways they had passed through to get to this room—one that had to have been set aside especially for her. Those halls had literally been choked with sick and injured, some sitting or lying on the floor—

She stood up—

"Kim?" she heard Monique gasp in surprise behind her.

"There are people here who need attention more than I do Mo. I'm going to go out and do what I can to help. You can see that my mom gets her leg taken care of for me. I'm not going to sit around . . . doing nothing . . . when there's something that need to be done."

"But Kim, you've done enough," came the distressed/agonized voice behind her and she felt her well of shame get that much fuller . . . but—

"You're wrong Mo," came the dead reply, "I did nothing."

Then the face of a dead girl swung around to look at the black girl . . . and the look there filled Monique with several types of fear—as did the voice when it said, "don't try to stop me Mo. I—I'm not . . . if you try—"

And Monique paled when she realized that Kim knew what she had done—

And hated her for it.

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"She WHAT?!?" Anne Possible would have come right off of the x-ray table if she had two legs she could stand on. But the emergency splint had been taken off so she was currently stuck until—

So her forced immobility caused Anne to gape at Monique, who had burst into the room in near hysteria despite the 'x-ray on' sign above the door, even as her own mind was grasping much of what must be going on inside of her daughters head having dealt far too many times with like thoughts in her earlier, pre-doctor days. But Anne realized as well just how much worse it had to be right now for someone like her daughter and that could leave her extremely unstable and/or with more than questionable judgment, shown plainly by Kim's refusal to submit to her injuries and bullheaded disregard for the wishes/orders of others toward her.

At this point, her daughter could well be a bigger danger to others than she was to herself—and if Kim finally cracked (_God PLEASE let her crack, it might be the only thing to save her_) at the wrong moment. Anne knew that she shouldn't hesitate—

The x-ray tech and the orthopedic specialist both let out a yowl as Anne, ignoring the pain (although she would later admit that she 'grayed out' for a moment from the agony the action caused) as she jerked her broken leg out their grasp, twisting herself around as she forcefully beckoned to the black girl to bring over the wheelchair that had been used to bring Anne into the room—

Then the door again burst open—

Anne Possible looked up—

And for that moment, everything else went by the wayside as the form of her husband came at her with all the purpose and formidability of an crushing avalanche, taking her into his arms—

And allowing the two of them a moment of badly needed respite from a very terrible day—

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Kim had managed to slip down into the basement unseen and get into her Sunshine Speaders uniform, and considering that the chaos in the rest of the hospital had overcome the basement as well, she decided to stay down there as much as possible as a precaution against those whom she knew would be looking for her. She had further lowered her profile by taking a scarf that had been given to her by an elderly patient as a thank you which had been sitting in her locker (she and Ron had been allowed lockers in the staff rooms for mission gear) for a blustery day. Now she used it to encase/cover her hair prior to her going out to find work to be done.

The condition of her forearms/hands precluded any tasks of with any kind of complication or dexterity, but she could load/unload carts using just her forearms (using her martial arts training to banish the pain back under her real pain) and she could maneuver the carts with her hands despite the heavy bandaging. And as she already knew where all the supplies and needed equipment was at, she was quickly in demand by all the emergency personnel brought in from other facilities.

For things were not yet getting any better. The conference and class rooms, the employee cafeteria, even the big operations/maintenance center had been turned into makeshift wards and Kim was in constant motion going after one thing or another—

She had wondered if the big storeroom/loading dock had been converted as well—and she almost lost it when she realized that it had been . . . turned into a temporary morgue . . . which was overflowing. After that, if she could find something needed/requested in some other . . . any other part of the hospital, she would go there first even if it exposed her to being caught. Her name was called several times over the PA system asking that she call the operator from any phone—she paid it no mind.

Just as she paid no mind most of the time to the fact that someone might physically be looking for her because given the conditions and her appearance, she didn't think anyone would spot her in hallways so crowded with makeshift beds, equipment, walking—sometimes running personnel—

Sure, she was bumping (sometimes literally) into staff she knew and they as of yet hadn't given her a second glance or even a thought. If she had a chance and advanced warning, she steered clear of anyone like that; as she was doing right now for she had spotted the Head Nurse working over toward her, eyes scanning the staff for those who would have to be forced to take a break or even go home after an entire day of madness.

In her evasion course, Kim worked her way around a pair of paramedics from some other county, both still in their heavy turnout gear, they had stopped their gurney in mid-hall to shift their patient, an elderly oriental woman to a table being used as a bed, another Sunshine Speader whom Kim knew was a student at West Side High was helping by holding the IV—

Kim then found herself blocked by a military medic and a nun working on a young woman in a neck brace with some kind of arm/shoulder problem, a small sequestered corner of her mind smiling at the sight of a military uniform and a religious habit side-by-side, their occupants hands working together, one providing strength and support, the other operating with care and dexterity.

She dodged around a clutch of occupied wheelchairs, two of the persons in them picking at her clothing, asking her questions about friends/family that she couldn't answer (and which tore open fresh agony where a little flame-now extinguished-had once been).

Kim skipped around a portable diagnostic unit whose operator was calling for a path to be cleared, their harassed face and obvious fatigue showing more than enough reason for the operator's shortness.

But that little jog brought her to find herself blocked by someone whose head was all wrapped as if they had had a concussion but was also dressed in medical scrubs, down on their knees, one hand pulling supplies out of the lower part of a cabinet into the other arm which was almost overflowing with what they were trying to carry. In fact, he (she based that on the body style) almost started to loose it all as he stood and she reached out to save his load, "let me help—" she said as his head came around to her—

And the bleak, colorless eyes of Kim Possible found themselves staring into the blank, lifeless eyes of Ron Stoppable.


	42. Let There Be Light!

Bleak, colorless eyes stared into blank, lifeless eyes—

Then the lifeless eyes turned away with a muttered, "thnks, don need help—got it coverd."

And the voice was as dead as her voice—

But . . . despite ALL the pain and grief in both sets of eyes—

. . . she would know that voice anywhere—

. . . it . . . couldn't . . . . . . .

But he—

. . . those eyes . . . behind the blank lifelessness—

. . . that voice . . . underneath the dead tone—

Then she blinked—and realized that he had moved away from her.

Her eyes dropped to the floor, unable to fathom what had just happened. For what had just happened wasn't . . . possible.

. . . not possible—

But something . . . SOMETHING . . . and she didn't know what for she had nothing left in her . . . made her raise her head again, to see him disappearing off into the jammed hallway. She had to—

Her brain working in a slow disjointed way realized that all she had seen was those eyes, all she had heard was that voice—

Both of which were impossible—

But—

She had no choice . . . she followed . . . keeping her distance, oblivious to everyone and everything in that hallway except him. She stared at him, trying to fathom what her instincts were telling her, trying to decipher whatever it was that her feeling, her unconscious awareness was telling her.

She saw him deliver his awkward load to a workstation where frantic supply personnel were portioning out what was available. She herself had made over a dozen trips for this station—had she passed him before in the hall and not realized—could it be then that it was all her imagination—

It . . . just couldn't be who she thought it was. even if . . . he . . . had somehow survived being blasted into the next state by that massive explosion—there was no way that the boy she was looking at could be— She tired to get her brain to work it through. Yes, his head was heavily bandaged, but his medical scrubs where short sleeved—she didn't see any other injuries on him, he wasn't limping (other than that dead-energyless shuffle he was moving in)— If it was . . . him . . . he should have been blasted naked by the force of the explosion, his skin ravaged. His chute would have been shredded along with everything else, his landing once he came down . . . if survivable at all . . . would have been ugly—

No . . . it was more than impossible—

But she couldn't stop staring—

And then—

She really hadn't gotten that good a look at him. All she had seen in their momentary encounter was his eyes. And as following him, all she saw was his back. Now that he was at the supply station, she had to keep her distance and try to glimpse around hordes of everybody in the world crossing between the two of them—everything from pallets of tables and chairs stacked almost ceiling high to long trains of food service carts to gurneys with full medical crews thickly gathered around them even while moving—

She just couldn't see him—

It looked like . . . he was talking to the man who was in charge of the station . . . as she had herself when she had received her assignments. She saw him turn about—

And got from a distance, her first good look at his face—

"Ron???" she breathed in complete and utter disbelief.

What she was seeing was NOT possible. Her eyes slammed closed!

She almost dropped to her knees, her heart almost stopped, she did stop breathing.

It **COULDN'T** be Ron . . . . . .

. . . . . . could it?

. . . she

. . . had

. . . no

. . . choice

. . . but to follow—

She did, almost trampling several people in her haste to catch up enough to see him—

And she looked . . . he looked beaten down, totally defeated, completely drained—he wasn't walking like Ron . . . even in his worst moments. She didn't understand—

All the while . . . that tiny sequestered part of her brain that was still able to process was totally ignored as it tried to tell her that what she saw was exactly the way Ron would react if she was dead—

But she was—and she was being punished by the blackness, and her entire universe had died for a stupid reason and that meant that what was happening was stupid and impossible and she shouldn't even for a second believe and that was another reason why this couldn't be happening—why that couldn't be Ron—

And she was brought up short when he then stopped at the freight elevator—

Next to it, stacked against the wall, was a clutch of gurneys—

All loaded—all draped with long white sheets that completely covered the remains occupying them. There were far too many of them. As he stood there, as she caught another look at his face, as she again told herself to deny what it was her eyes were telling her . . . the freight elevator opened and an orderly started to push another covered gurney out—

He took the one furthest away from the elevator doors and started pushing it down the hall—

She followed.

To the makeshift morgue in the storeroom/loading dock.

She saw him go in, pushing the gurney in front of him—she stopped at the open door, saw him still pushing away from her towards the far side of the huge room as the rest of the small staff present moved about whatever their business was—

She who was once Kim Possible, found that she could not cross the threshold of this room. It was a room for and of the dead!

And she wondered—

What that was what she was following? Was she having a vision? Was she following a ghost? And if she was . . . was he leading her? Was he taking her too—? If she went over to the far wall where he had now stopped, parking the gurney he had pushed over to a row of tables against the far wall, making motions as if to unload the gurneys contents—?

If she went over there—

Would she then see Ron's real body . . . there on the table where . . . ?

She knew that if that was what she found if she walked over there . . . the dam would burst . . . the walls would come down . . . all her grief and sorrow would be released and she DIDN'T WANT THAT!

She would have to accept! She would have to grieve over him! She would have to mourn him! She would have to let all her pent up emotions—

But she also knew . . . she knew that she had no choice in the matter—and with the blood in her veins turning into ice, she stepped across/through the door—

She was halfway across when . . . he had finished unloading the remains, had stripped the sheets off of the gurney and was disinfecting it with some kind of spray when he suddenly reeled and half dropped to his knees, one hand coming up to hold his bandaged head.

And without thought, she was THERE! Holding/steadying him with one heavily bandaged hand, ignoring the pain it caused—

His head came up as he tried to push himself back up—

Again . . . blank, lifeless eyes met bleak, colorless eyes—

But those bleak, colorless eyes—

She realized . . .

He didn't even really seem to notice, so wrapped up in the death shawl of his own grief and sorrows. She realized that all he saw was a girl, a teen like him, a girl with a face swollen all out of shape with burns, bruising, abrasions, bandaging, a scarf covering the rest of her head—eyes that were . . . bleak . . . colorless . . .

But his . . . his blank lifeless eyes suddenly seemed to notice—

That this girls bleak, colorless eyes that were also filled with disbelief . . . questions . . . and . . . wonder?

"Um okay," he muttered, starting to drop his eyes away from her as he again tried to push himself up despite the fact that the look on his face showed that most of the world, other than the face of the girl in front of him was spinning around rather rapidly.

But she heard the voice again, in the quiet hush of this room—

She would truly know that voice—

And despite her own disbelief, her own stubborn convictions that this could not be happening, that it was impossible, that he was dead—

She knew—

"Ron?" and it was lower than a whisper . . . barely audible.

But he . . . would know that voice . . . anywhere . . . in death . . . in life.

His eyes came back up, fear and denial blazing out of them; he started to jerk, to pull away—

Panic and sheer terror flooded under the look of dead emotionlessness—

And in his panic, his feet went out from under him, he slammed solidly down on his butt, jarring his head and reeling his senses even further.

She . . . . . . realized that—

In that moment of nova bright realization, with her free hand, she who was once Kim Possible reached up and ripped the scarf off of her head revealing—

The tightly wrapped thick fall of flaming red hair, smelling of smoke and fire and electricity and death spilled down and around her face/shoulders—

His eyes went huge

He stared—

She stared—

"K . . . K . . . K . . . p—P?"

He was in total denial, complete disbelief, utter rejection—

"Ron!" and it was in a shouted whisper—

And He who was once Ron Stoppable saw something akin to a miracle—

For before him, locked to his eyes, he saw . . . bleak, colorless eyes that slowly turned . . . changed as life . . . and a shining blaze of emerald green flowed into them—

"Kim," was returned the whispered shout as blank, lifeless eyes slowly filled with tears and belief and acceptance and their own life as Ron Stoppable reached out—

And Kim Possible reached back, arms grasping, clasping, ignoring all pain and discomfort—

For the joy that sparked and exploded—

And lit a little flame that also exploded into a blaze of emotions!

Allowing the two to wrap themselves around the other, coming as close to being one without being physically joined- tears and sobs erupting in cleansing waves—

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A/N: I decided to submit to the request of those asking and update this as soon as it was finished. Enjoy.

For this is the 'End' of "Endgame". I hope you all enjoyed it. It was a lot of very hard but very rewarding work to write.

And I also wanted to advise that this is not the end. There are many epilogs coming, but the radical changes made during the last third of the story requires that I completely regroup and rescript those. The remaining threads that are going to be tucked in have to be (some ladies and gentlemen are NOT going to be resolved, their for the sequels) and closure has to be made for several characters. So as soon as those are up, they will be put up.

Again, a think you to all who read this and an special think you to all who drop me a note of review. Those always make my day.

And I Will Remain As Always

Your Humble and Devoted Servant

The Wise Duck


	43. Questions on a Hard Road to Recovery

A/N: I'd like to thank everyone who took and interest in and read 'Endgame' with a special thank you to those who reviewed it.

This next part is taking a long time in coming due to changes in work/home to where I have been restricted to having writing time only one or two nights a week (with some weeks with no time at all). So things will be slow but they will come. Please be patient.

I want to thank publicly PegasusJF who has taken special interest in WSCS and has done a piece of artwork based on Chapter 5 'Reaction Actions' called "Welcome Back KP". You can find it either through a link on his profile page or at his DeviantArt site. I am humbled and thankful for his attention.

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Wade Load, despite his worry, anxiety, fear, apprehension (worry about all his friends and what they were going through, anxiety about the events of the day and the traumatic events he had witnessed/participated in, fear for the unknown which still confronted him about so many things, apprehension about what his parents were going to do with/to him when they found out just what he had been through this day), sat up with a start when he realized that he had dozed off even though he was sitting on a hard hospital floor, scrunched into a small alcove (which kept the continuing tide of injured and staff from stomping on him). There had been moments when Wade's stomach had been talking so loud that he could at times hear it over the moderately noisy din from that same sea of people. He winced at the stiff spot in his neck/shoulders that had developed due to his uncomfortable position and felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over him which he knew was from lack of food. But he was fearful of leaving to find something—

Then, through the centipede motions of a hundred legs (as seen from his level), Wade saw the door across the hall open and something appear there. By the time he was able to get his protesting body up onto its feet, Doctor James Possible had held the door for the orthopedic tech who was able to push the wheelchair containing Doctor Anne Possible, now bearing a cast from her thigh to her ankle, across to where the young boy stood. MrDrP followed, leaning heavily on the cane he had acquired . . .

MrsDrP gave Wade a wan smile, allowing him to see just how completely exhausted her eyes/face was. But he could also see something else there . . . what was still keeping her going. And her first words echoed what Wade saw.

"Any word on Kim?"

Wade could only shake his head. MrDrP looked about, his own fatigue and stress evident in the way he tried so hard to sound upbeat and positive as he asked, "where did Monique go?"

Wades head dropped a little. "I don't know. We sat together for a while and I guess it got to her because she started to cry. You could tell that she was trying to be quiet about it but it was pretty obvious that it was hitting her really bad. After a while, she just got up and left, didn't say anything when I asked—" and Wade let it drop there as if he thought he had done something wrong by allowing Monique to leave.

MrsDrP leaned forward in her chair and drew the young boy into a tight embrace. "It's okay Wade. I have a pretty good idea where Monique probably went. Right now, we need to get you—" and then Wade's stomach rumbled like a volcano ready to blow. MrsDrP actually managed to chuckle before saying, "I was going to say that we needed to get you home, but I think something else is in order first."

"I can't leave until we find Kim," Wade said firmly.

MrsDrP almost managed a real grin as she pulled out of the embrace and looked from Wade to her husband. "Let James take you to get something to eat. In the meantime, I mean to find my daughter, and I've got a couple of ideas of where to check." Wade looked at the two of them looking at each other and realized that some major non-verbal communication was going on. Something that maybe MrDrP didn't quite approve of but which his wife was holding firm too.

What the young boy had not been privy to an earlier conversation the two adults had had at one point where they had been alone in the ortho section for several minutes.

"We went as far as the door of this big storage area down in the basement," James finished. "We . . . " and he had to take a moment to catch a ragged breath, "we . . . realized that it was being used as a morgue . . . we saw . . . the victims in there when an orderly pushed through the door with . . . another one."

Anne watched her husband carefully. "I know that you wouldn't allow Wade to go in but . . . you yourself didn't go in to physically see if Ron was there?"

James looked embarrassed, looking down towards the floor. "No," was his quiet answer, "I didn't. Really didn't see the point being that Wade had a real firm signal and no telemetry." He took another shuddering breath. "And . . . and the truth was, that I don't think that I could handle it."

Anne reached out a comforting hand. "I understand dear. But the cynical hardcore realist in me demands that even before we call Ron's parents, that one of us positively identifies Ron, if for no other reason, considering how he must have died, whether or not it would be a good idea for his parents to even view his body in the state it must be in."

And as she said this, James face grew stubborn. "After everything you've seen and done and went through today . . . you would subject yourself to something like that? Dear, I think for your sake you really need to—"

"Ron," and Anne's tone was kind but backed by steel, "was our son in everything but name. As such, this is something that we have to do. And as I'm more than a little bit better at handling something like this than you—"

James snorted and rubbed at a damp eye. "I know you are. I just don't like it after everything—"

"I know dear. But at the same time . . . I just might find our daughter there . . . and I'll be better able to handle that as well."

James closed his eyes in pain, being able to force a nod only after a long moment.

It was that same pain and apprehension that Wade saw in MrDrP's face as he and his wife exchanged looks in the corridor outside of the ortho room.

And it was a firm nod on the part of MrsDrP that caused her husband to break the moment and place a hand on Wade's shoulder with a forced/hardy, "lets see what we can find for a growing boy like you."

Wade allowed himself to be led off, looking back over his shoulder as MrsDrP's supportive face until he finally lost sight of it in the crowd—

At which time Anne Possible was able to let her guard . . . and her expression down, instantly aging her at least ten years. She waved off the tech and started to push herself towards the elevator, tying to convince herself all the while that she was as steady and firm and able as she was telling herself (and her husband)—

And not really believing it.

It took her far too long to work her way down the crowded (but apparently no longer quite as frantic) corridors to an elevator that had room for her. She found that the basement was still pretty bad as far as crowding . . . but the thick-enough-to-cut-with-a-knife feeling of disaster seemed to be fading.

Only to be replaced by a sense of foreboding that was literally making Anne physically sick as she rolled up to the door that was her destination.

She closed her mind to as much as she could, ruthlessly applying her professional distancing . . . knowing that it would all be for naught if she found what she thought she might—

That being her daughter holding whatever was left of the corpse of her boyfriend—

No . . . not her boyfriend . . . her soul mate.

Anne's throat was choked so tight as her eyes started to scan the large room that she almost had to physically force her breath through it.

. . . . . . she actually stopped breathing when she recognized the form of the chief medical examiner for the hospital, exhausted eyes being the only thing visible behind his scrubs and mask, as he nodded and made a little pointing gesture over to the far side of the room.

There was barely enough room for Anne to maneuver, especially since she wasn't really watching where she was going despite the fact that there was now little clearance for her wheelchair due to just how full the entire room currently was. Her eyes were instead, focused ahead of her, not seeing anything that she could identify as what she sought, which caused her to force her eyes down to the floor for she realized that all tables and counters were full and corpses were just being left on the floor and the thought of her Kim being down on the floor with Ron's remains among so many others was almost enough for Anne to lose it right there for she was almost to the back wall and—

Anne stopped . . .

. . . to say there was total and complete disbelief in her face when there should have been sadness and horror would not have done the moment justice.

But—some kind of instinct thing was screaming inside of her—

Warring with common sense which was saying that what she was seeing . . . just wasn't possible.

She knew for just a minute that she must be having hallucinations due to stress, fatigue, shock and pain—

For that was the only way she could accept that her eyes were telling her that she was seeing a remarkably intact-looking Ron Stoppable lying on the floor in front of her with his head and shoulders propped against the wall, with her daughter lying chest down atop him, her body sprawled from between Ron's spread legs, up his torso to where her head was propped where his chest hinged up with his raised shoulders, her arms tightly wrapped around her boyfriends body, his arms embracing her shoulders/head—

They looked as if they were both sound asleep.

In fact . . . as some suddenly understanding part of the mother in her realized what she saw and knew instinctively that . . . the two teens had cried themselves to sleep in each others arms—

Anne stared for maybe thirty seconds—

Before she slapped a hand over her own mouth as a squeal of release erupted from her even as her eyes started to flow tears and her body was ready to collapse from relief even as it wanted to jump with ecstatic joy—

For she knew, just as her husband always said—

That nothing was impossible for a Possible—

And that that also applied to a certain Stoppable.

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The boy who had been on his back on the floor with his head/shoulders propped against the wall, the entire top of his head wrapped in thick gauze bandages, his face pale, beyond exhaustion, suddenly found the weight that had been on him gone, the warmth pressing into him . . . missing, the arms that had been around him in a deathlike grip—vanished like smoke in the breeze. And true to his nature, panic immediately set in.

_Was that a dream? Was it real? Was that really . . . or was it just a nightmare to torture me?_ The thoughts tore through him like wildfire forcing himself, as much as he didn't want too to groggily swim back toward the surface of consciousness.

Tears came anew to the boys face as he thought he realized that—_I dreamed that Kim was alive, that we were back together, that our arms were around one another and we were crying we were so happy and now_— and he KNEW that it had been a dream for his arms were now empty, and his arms began to flail around, missing the body that had been his for just a moment, wishing with all his heart that even the dream that he had just had of holding his love was better than the reality of her being gone.

But she wasn't gone—

She had woken only moments before, seeing her mother staring wide eyed and open mouthed with tears of her own flowing. She had ever so reluctantly pulled herself out of his embrace, but had willingly and lovingly moved herself into an equally crushing embrace with her mother.

And despite the fact that her entire body was nothing but a raw, bloody wound, feeling her mother shudder with relief was the second best thing that had happened to her in the last whatever period—

For the raw bloody wound that had been inside her had closed and healed.

But then she had heard him move, heard his whimpers and whispered cries.

As had her mom for she was instantly released.

"Ron!" she called as she moved back over to him.

He thought that his nightmare was still going on, that he was still hearing her voice and that started an unholy wail out of him—

Only it froze in his throat as he felt hands start to grip him, slide around him—

Ron cried out in alarm as since he was convinced that his love was not there. His eyes snapped open—

And saw his dream coming at him, bloody, bruised, battered—

And even stranger, was that his late girlfriends mother was sitting in a wheelchair beyond, tears streaming out of her own eyes—

"Ron! It's okay! I'm here!"

And that voice brought his eyes back to what was before him, and his breathing again stopped as he suddenly found himself lost in that blazing emerald green inferno—

Even dampened as it was by a flood of tears of its own.

Ron Stoppable continued to be frozen as those arms wrapped around him, that swollen cheek pressed tightly into the hollow of his shoulder and his eyes closed in rapture as thick red hair pushed up against his chin/cheek. His arms snapped around the form in a death grip . . .

. . . and only after a long moment, he was able to finally say—"this isn't a dream!"

And Kim Possible, his light, his life, his universe, now back in this arms squeezed him so hard that it seemed that he really couldn't breath even as she shuddered in a sob of her own.

But the face of the woman who had now maneuvered her wheelchair close enough to reach down and touch the leg of her daughter—

"It's real Ron," MrsDrP said in a choked voice. "Kim let go of you just long enough to come hug me when she woke up just now. You're together, you're both alive, you did not loose each other—"

Ron's eyes looked down at the mane of red hair pressed against his face, feeling at the same time, the shuddering sobs and the tremendous grip that was wrapped around him—

"Boo-yah!" he managed with a soft tone into the ear of the most important person in his world.

The "boo-yah" that he heard back at him through the muffle of his shoulder and her hair actually had a loving chuckle sound to it—

And the embrace got even tighter.

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Wade half-heartedly poked at the MRE on the table in front of him, out in the tented mess area of the parking lot close to the main entrance. The only reason he was even doing that because of the watching eyes of MrDrP across the table. Also at MrDrP's insistence, Wade had called home and had briefly filled his parents in, and now he felt twice as guilty because his 'rents were both devastated over what had happened to Kim and Ron but unbelievably grateful and thankful for Wades own survival.

But . . . . . .

. . . . . . something else was bothering him . . . and he couldn't pin it down. He knew that . . .

In frustration he pulled his Over-Load out of his pocket and ignoring his meal entirely, started to play his fingers over it.

"Wade?" started MrDrP's gentle admonishment.

"Sir," and Wade put both respect and stubbornness into his words, "there's something just . . . tweaking at me."

MrDrP frowned. He knew that the young boy didn't do things lightly. If something was that serious—"do you have any idea?" he asked, his own tone showing support for Wade's concern.

"That's what's so bugging!" was Wades answer. "I know that something isn't right but I can't pin just what it is." Wades face now was totally intent on the device in his hands.

MrDrP frowned for a moment, finding that having to give thought to the problem was a huge relief from the constant black thoughts that had been forefront in his mind for so many hours. His own experience with troubleshooting and problem solving flashed through his mind and he really spoke without thinking about it. ""Is it something that seems to be a problem . . . or something that isn't . . . as in something that should be there and isn't?"

Wade froze as if struck with an electric shock. He glanced up at the adult across the table from him long enough to acknowledge the logic and brilliance as well as thanks—

Then Wade was back at the device in his hands, fingers moving so fast that they blurred.

It took all of twenty seconds—

Then if Wade had looked surprise and alarmed before, his look now—

"What—" was all MrDrP could get out before the boy leapt to his feet, one hand snapping out to grab the adults arm.

"Wade?!?" MrDrP managed at the totally unexpected reaction as the young boy was trying to drag him back toward the hospital.

"Burned out," Wade shot back at him, his tone/voice that also of disbelief mixed with self reproach.

"What?" MrDrP tried again even as he almost tripped over a power cable. "What burned out?"

"I realized that, like you said," came the breathless reply for Wade was literally running as fast as his short legs could carry him. "It was what I wasn't seeing. The other chips that I track, I'm not getting telemetry on them either. I ran a test scan of the Over-Load and the S-band sensor is burned out! The atmospheric power spike must have done it. I wasn't getting anything from that system. I switched to another sensor—"

"Wade," MrDrP asked, sounding horrid as all the possibilities and associated apprehensions welled up in him—

Allowing Wade to make the confirmation—

"Ron's chip is functioning, and it's still in the basement . . . and it says he's alive!"

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After too much fatigue, too much pain and discomfort from physical trauma, too many of the most powerful emotions known ripping back and forth across minds, hearts and souls, things had become more than a blur.

Kim's first true 'conscious' moment found her flat on her back in a hospital bed staring at a blurred face as the penlight checked her pupils. As before when she had been first brought into the hospital, she had vague, disjointed memories, Wade and her father bursting into the morgue, lying in various positions on an x-ray table with her one hand holding/being held in a clutching grip, sitting in a wheelchair with the heavy x-ray vest draped over her as she then held Ron's hand as he lay on the x-ray table, the mental agony of having to let go of Ron's hand while he was being taken into the CAT-Scan, pain/pain/pain/pain as the initial field bandages where taken off of her burns which where then treated (pain/pain/pain/pain). As she now felt the weight of her body spread out in the bed, she was still in pain, it taking her a moment to know that it was from her ravaged side disliking the position she was in.

Kim tried to focus on what it was that had brought her 'in'—

It had been her mothers voice from the side of her bed away from whoever was looking in her eyes. It had sounded to Kim like her mother had said something about—

"Ron?" and Kim didn't even mind the pleading tone in her voice.

"That's what I just said honey," her moms voice answered her soothingly. "They've finished with him and it looks good. He's being brought up right now."

Kim felt a tension that had filled her whole body without her even knowing suddenly release. At just about the same moment, the penlight was gone from her eyes and the hand had stopped holding her head. She didn't even look at who had been examining her, her head swiveling to look at her mom, exhausted but steady even in the wheelchair she was still confined in. The light was back on in her mom's eyes and Kim felt shame that she hadn't even acknowledged to her mom the fact that that light had dimmed—

Kim knew that it was because her own light had gone out but she still couldn't excuse herself. She knew that she must have put her parents and friends through hell, ignoring them as she wallowed in her grief, refusing to see just how hard they had been trying to help her. Wade and most of all . . .

"Kim!" her mom's voice turning with sudden alarm as Kim's face turned instantly horrified. Kim felt her mom's handgrip her arm in sudden support as Kim's mouth opened and a horrible sound emitted from it.

"Kim, what is it?"

"Mom!" came the tortured wail as the full memory/realization of it all burned through the red-haired teen, "help me up. I have to find Monique!"

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Monique awoke slowly . . . reluctantly . . . and groaned with pain both physical and mental. The mental pain had to many sources, too many torn, raw parts of her psyche to be able to dwell on any one point. Her physical was from her sleeping curled up on the hard floor with just a sheet and a pillow, thus augmenting the abuse and damage of her body from everything she had been through in the hours before.

Her own injuries were still unchecked, the cuts, blisters and burns still wrapped in their initial field bandages, her entire bad leg throbbing so hard that she thought that she hadn't gone to sleep but had passed into a stupor from the pain.

But there were way too many others who needed help and treatment far more than she did. She didn't think at this point that she deserved anything.

And to make it all so much worse, Monique knew and still believed that she had done the right thing . . . and it had cost her her best girlfriend. Only her firm belief in the future, and right now, that was solely focused on the unmoving form of a boy in the bed next to which she slept, gave her any hope that she would someday feel happy and contented again—

For she knew as well as she knew herself, that Kim Possible would never forgive her for pulling her back from the death she had sought so desperately. Monique at least hoped in a tiny corner of her self, that someday Kim might acknowledge that Monique had stopped her from committing an unforgivable sin . . . but she didn't really hold that as likely right now.

But Monique tiredly raised her head, preparing to move about into another hopelessly uncomfortable position. There were now two other beds in Felix's room, both filled with comatose survivors, everything was dark as it had to be very late night if not early morning—

Then Monique realized that it wasn't dark . . . and another moment to understand that the reason why was the fact that the hall door was open. She laid her head back down flat on the floor, allowing her to see under the separation curtains. She saw a pair of legs/feet . . . they didn't look like they belonged to staff, bare with throwaway slippers. Maybe someone was lost . . . or looking in on one of the others in the room. Whatever it was, Monique was reluctant to be lying almost under Felix's bed with someone else in the room. She slowly dragged herself to her feet wincing and grunting every moment of the way.

Another part of her mind thought it was weird that whoever it was was still standing in the door. Monique was too tired to care but at the same time, the sooner she either helped the person or sent her on her way, the quicker she could be 'alone' with Felix.

Once Monique was on her feet, she took a moment to actually be thankful for the light for she was able to reach out and tenderly touch the side of Felix's face. She then turned and walked to the end of his bed, pushing her head/shoulders through the curtain, opening her mouth to ask 'can I help you?'

The way the figure was standing partly in the door, all of its features where totally in silhouette, completely blacked out and unrecognizable—

But Monique recognized the figure anyway. The body shape, the stance, that thick falling mane of hair . . . there could be no mistake in recognizing . . .

"Kim"

It was said in a tone of surrender and complete submissiveness, for Kim would be seeking her out for only one reason, a reason that had played out in Monique's mind through fifty thousand different scenarios that all had the same ending.

And Monique wouldn't blame Kim for any of it. In fact, another small part of her welcomed it . . . in order to get it over.

That would allow Monique to totally dedicate herself to Felix. But now that the moment was here—

Then Monique, who had been standing stupefied with just her head/shoulders still through the curtain shook her head for Kim had said something and Monique hadn't caught it as all her defenses came down—

"Whaaa—wha—what?" the black girl stammered.

The voice again spoke . . . and it was Kim's voice, Kim's _real_ voice, sounding like Kim as she had once known her . . . and Monique maybe realized the reason why she hadn't understood it the first time, because it was so low that it was barely audible but— the voice wasn't dead. It was _alive_, choked with emotion so great that . . . and the main emotions heard were sorrow and guilt and regret and Monique KNEW that the words spoken could not have been the words her ears heard—

"Monique, I'm sorry, forgive me, please be my friend."

Monique once again . . . didn't know what to _do_! Cause it couldn't be real.

But at that moment, Kim, with rapid, emotion driven stepped was right there, wrapping her arms around the black girl who could _feel_ the tears on Kim's cheeks—

And Monique knew that it wasn't real because Kim's next words were, "he's alive Mo, Ron's alive!"

Monique remained frozen. What was going on just couldn't be real. As what Kim said could not be real.

"You save us Mo," Kim cried softly into her ear with that so _alive_ voice. "You saved me! And if you hadn't, then I'd be dead and Ron would be alive and alone and you and only you made it possible for us to be back together because you _believed _and because you stood up for what you believed and you wouldn't let me fall when I couldn't believe and thank you, thank you, I'm so so sorry for treating you like dirt! You're my best friend and I treated you horribly—"

It couldn't be real! Monique didn't now what to DO!

Then her eyes snapped back to the open door as she saw movement—

As his father pushed Ron Stoppable into the doorway, far enough back for the light to show that it really was _him_!

"Ron?!?" And tidal waves of disbelief, amazement, sudden joy, roared through Monique's voice even though it came out a whisper.

She felt Kim squeezing her even harder as her voice chanted in Monique's ear, "yesyesyes—"

Then Monique felt herself being pulled toward the door by Kim, Ron came forward in the chair as Monique felt her and Kim going down onto their knees in front of him, three pairs of arms going around shoulders/necks as the sounds of three teens quiet crying filled the room/hall. Monique also saw without seeing Kim's parents, standing on either side of Monique's mother who had been keeping watch from a chair in the hall, giving her their support—

"Monique, I can't say how much Kim and I owe you for—" Ron was saying—

"See Mo, see! And it's all because of you—" Kim was barely managing—

"I can't believe it, this is too good to be—" Monique was blathering back at them—

And while the three friends found healing and comfort in their reunion, behind them in his curtained off bed was Felix Renton—

His lips were barely moving as if in mumbled/whispered silent conversation—

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Kim was exhausted but at the same time so completely psyched that she wanted to bounce off the hospital walls . . . but being that it would be Very No Bueno to do so when it seemed that the atmosphere inside Middleton Medical Center was finally calming to a totally depleted sigh of relief . . .

So she settled happily for pushing her Best Friend/Boyfriend (ALIVE AND LIVING AND SO NOT DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) back toward the room that they would be sharing while still being held for burn treatment (her) and head injury observation (him). They had seen Monique finally surrendering herself for treatment for her injuries under the supervision of her mom while Ron's parents provided Kim's parents with transportation home for some much needed rest/recovery.

So many things were whirling around in Kim's head that it could be forgiven that it wasn't until she actually pushed Ron into their room that she realized that they were alone together for the first time since—

And Kim . . . still didn't know how Ron had—

And it was completely without thought that she—

And she didn't know just how long she could hold it any . . .

For she had come around, dropping onto her knees in front of him in the chair, her arms going around him despite the physical pain to her body—

And she felt his arms go around her, care being taken not to hurt her—

And finally Kim could—

And she cried . . .

. . . and she cried . . .

. . . . . . and she cried!

And she felt Ron's arms both tender and strong around her and felt them shake and heard/felt his tears.

When Kim had at last at least made a dent in all the pent up grief/pain/thankfulness/relief inside her, she managed to get her mouth open and start to say—

"Ron, how did you—?"

"I don't know," was his miserable reply.

It was so miserable that it actually caused Kim to pull her head back and see—

She saw things in her love that startled and scared her. "Ron—?" she again tried to manage—

"I woke up in the triage area out in the hospital parking lot," Ron's tone was that of disbelief/astonishment/incomprehension. "They could only tell me that an ambulance brought me in from where a rescue team found me. And they had no idea where that place, the place I was found . . . was."

Kim stared at him in the dim light from the night lights above their unoccupied beds, trying and failing to understand what it was that Ron was saying because it matched none of the things that she had expected/imagined/thought had happened to him. The reaction was accompanied by a further mind-jarring paralysis driven by what Kim thought she heard/saw in Ron's voice/face. "But," she started, her mind stating the obvious before the rest of her heart/soul caught up, "you must—what was the last thing you—?"

"The last thing I remember," and Kim was more than startled by the totally unexpected sound of self-loathing in Ron's voice, "was after I sent Rufus away. I was walking toward the Global Justice Hovership . . . and there was a flash . . . and everything went black until I woke up out in the parking lot."

Kim stared dumbly at her boyfriend, her entire being at a total loss as to why Ron could possibly be _blaming_ himself for something that he didn't remember, something that whatever it was, had kept fate from taking him from her—

At that moment . . . movement/light from the hall . . . the door to their room was being pushed open, a dark figures head/shoulders carefully coming into view. Kim came to her feet, all of her senses in sudden mission mode. After all the disasters of the day, she still wasn't convinced that somewhere out there, was a black-op death warrant with her and her BFBF's name on it to eliminate possible witnesses for inquiring minds—

And her spike of wariness did not go away when she realized that the person coming into their room had some kind of uniform on—

His eyes were also on them, unblinking in a tired, drawn face—

"I'm sorry," the man said (sounding sincere at least), "I didn't want to disturb you but I have something to return to you," and with that, he held out his hand—

Which had lying within it, a small curled up pink, hairless figure that appeared dead to the world.

Kim came fully erect, horror slashing though her, part of her desperately trying to suppress the scream trying to erupt inside her for maybe she could get the man out of the room without Ron realizing—

But Ron had seen Kim's face, had seen her reactions . . . and knew her too well not to know what it was she was seeing/thinking. He came up/out of the chair despite the fact that the whole world tried to tilt on him, gathering his love up into his arms even as he came around to see the terrible reality before the two of them. His own cry of grief started—

'NO!" was the shouted stage whisper from the man in the door even as a halting hand shot out towards the two teens. "Its okay, he's just ASLEEP!"

The two teens froze as if refusing to believe—

Kim had to grab Ron as the world again tilted under him; she was barely able to get the both of them down into a hard landing on their butts. When she shook her head to clear it, she realized that the man had come all the way in and was on his knees right in front of them, his free hand on Ron's shoulder steadying him.

They were both able to see him a little more clearly—and Ron was able to reach out, as the man in the torn and dirty Air Force Majors uniform handed Ron his best little buddy with no further hesitation.

Only then did Kim realize that the Major was talking to them.

"—really sorry that I startled you. But while he tired to stay awake on the way over here, he just crapped out poor little guy. And considering what he's done today, I can understand it completely."

Ron, the tears from his eyes splashing on his own hands laid a tender cheek against the sleeping mole rat curled up in his palms before looking back up at the Major, "what do you mean? Where did you find him?"

The Major gave a snorting laugh. "Hell, I didn't find him, he found me! I'm Major Pell by the way; I'm a SARA instructor from the Air Force Academy. I had just led my team into the area where all the air operations had been staged out of to look for survivors and out of nowhere, this little guy hit me in the chest like a buzz saw, clawing his way up me till he had me by both ears, chittering away like mad. It wasn't until he pointed over at a pile of debris that I was able to figure out what he wanted and a good thing too—" and he left it hanging there, his tone inviting the two teens to ask him to drop the other shoe.

"And—" Kim's tone was wary for something had caused Ron to freeze solid, staring wide-eyed at the Air Force officer as if waiting for some pronouncement of doom—

The Major flicked a finger at Ron. "I don't know why you were in that dumpster kid, but it saved your life. The entire side of that building had fallen on it. If you had even been sitting upright in it instead of lying down like we found you . . . well, I should say like your little friend there (flicking the same finger at Rufus's sleeping form) found you, you would have had a fatal headache. But your pet apparently had zeroed in on you somehow, letting us know that you were in there." The Major smiled with a shake of his head. "Good thing too. You probably didn't have much air in there. If we hadn't come along when we did or if your friend hadn't been there to direct us, it wouldn't have mattered anyway."

The Major then reached out with that same finger to lightly stroke the sleeping mole rat. "You were alive but unresponsive when we pulled you out and put you into the ambulance. And your friend here wanted to go with you. But I had heard about him of course," and the Majors eyes then came up to give both Kim and Ron appreciative nods as he acknowledged that he knew just who and what they were, "and I asked him to help search for other survivors." The Majors gaze, now thankful went back to Rufus as he said, "thanks to this little guy squeezing into impossibly small holes, we found almost a dozen others."

The Major stood back and away. "Sorry if we held onto him as long as we did. As soon as the search dogs arrived I pulled him out. It just took me a while to get over here to get him back to you." The Major then waved the trio a little salute as he turned and started back out the door. "You're little guy did you proud. All of you take care." With that the Major left the room.

And Kim then looked from the point where she had just watched a man leave the room of her and her boyfriend to—

To that boyfriend, who was sitting huddled, staring down at the figure in his hands . . .

Ron looked as if he had just had his worst nightmare realized.

Kim gripped Ron from behind, sending all of her strength and love into him even as she, "Ron . . . what is it?"

Her boyfriend then shuffled the little figure into a single palm, the freed hand coming up to gingerly touch the large bandage which Kim had noted but dismissed on the back of Ron's neck where it joined his head.

"Ron—?

"The nurse who helped bandaged this up," Ron's voice was pained, horse and scared, "he normally worked in an ER in the bad area of Lowerton . . . he said that the doctor pulled pieces of raw wood out of it . . . he said that it looked to him from everything he had seen in his regular job . . . that someone had 'smacked' me in the back of the head with a 2X4 or something . . . . . . "

As Ron's voice drifted into silence, Kim found herself staring at the bandage on her boyfriends neck, her mind suddenly understanding . . . and yet not . . . for none of it made any sense . . .

Because it would have to mean . . . for it to make sense . . . . . .

But why was Ron so scared? So full of pain . . .

Then suddenly . . . that made sense as well.

Kim desperately tried to get her arms all the way around her love even as he suddenly folded down into himself . . . sobbing . . . keening . . . loosing all sense and control. Kim clutched at him on every level she could, trying to stop his headlong plunge into a blackness that she had so recently seen.

"No Ron . . . don't! Please Ron, I love you! Don't do this to yourself! It's not your fault! Ron _please_!"

"Someone stopped me!" he wailed. "Someone hit me in the back of my head and took my place! Someone _DIED_ for me!"

"So you could live for _ME_!" Kim wailed right back at him . . .

Ron just stopped talking . . . and cried harder. Kim just held on . . . as tightly as she could . . . she kept talking . . . trying to say something . . . anything . . . that would make it alright . . .

All the while knowing inside . . . that nothing would.

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Ron Stoppable didn't have a clue where he was going . . . both mentally and physically. If fact, at the moment, he really didn't have a clue where he was at of just what it was that he was . . .

So distraught, so torn asunder was his mind and soul that even the moment of the brightest light of his life, the moment that he had realized that it was Kim Possible who had been holding him in the temporary morgue and that she was alive . . .

Even that moment, though it was just hours before . . . was now pale and distant due to his distress and . . .

And he didn't even know who it was that had sacrificed themselves—

He didn't know anything right now.

Even the memories/feelings of Kim's arms wrapped around him like love-forged steel as the horror of the truth came crashing down on him, her desperate, terrified (for him) voice begging him not to allow the truth to flail him with the knowledge that someone had died in his place!

For the first time in his life, Ron had found no solace in his girl's arms/words. He had cried until he could cry no more . . . then he had found that he was shamed, embarrassed, mortified, _guilt ridden_ unlike any time in his life.

_Someone_ had given their life completing the mission he had set out to do, apparently both saving the world and causing horrific death, injury and destruction doing it—

And that deep down inside, Ron was glad/overjoyed/ecstatic/overwhelmed with relief that what had happened had happened because Kim didn't die and they were both alive and they were together and it had been the best moment in his life . . . and he was so wonderfully overjoyed/ecstatic about it while at the same time he was so terribly embarrassed and guilt ridden about it!

It was tearing his mind/soul apart—

And it hurt even more because his heart was intact, his love for Kim and his absolute knowledge of her love for him . . . made all the more stronger with the shocking revelation that Kim had 'died' thinking he was dead and only Monique had brought her back—

Kim had 'proved' her total devotion and complete commitment to him—

He had been cheated of his chance to prove the same thing to her.

Of course he understood that he could have/should have/would have been dead if he had actually been the one who had taken the hovership in—

But Ron also had to believe that the Ron Factor would have known that Kim was alive and would have done _something_ for him—

And he somehow couldn't believe that that Ron Factor 'something' . . . was what had kept him from ever getting onto the hovership . . . of someone else taking his place . . . of someone else sacrificing themselves for—

This was the source of his shame.

And as he had felt the arms of Kim Possible around him, Ron believed that this was something that his love would never be able to understand . . . for she had never truly known, despite her recent trails and troubles what life was like being a 'loser'.

Ron knew that he had to get away from her . . . get away from Kim . . . and that hurt him more that anything had in his life. But he had to have space; he had to try to get a grip on just what had torn him inside out—

And Ron told Kim exactly that . . . with those exact words . . .

And he was shamed even more when she replied to him—

"Take as much time as you need Ron. Do whatever you have too. And remember, and _know_ . . . that I will be here, or wherever you need me when you're ready to let me back . . . and that I LOVE you . . . and I know that you love me."

Right now . . . Ron didn't know . . . but he knew the truth of her words . . . but how to reconcile himself to what had happened, with what he was feeling?

He didn't know where to go, he didn't know what to do—little snatches of awareness told him that he was aimlessly pushing himself in his wheelchair around the still crowded but slowly calming halls of the hospital and that it was very very early in the morning.

He was lost . . . with no clue as to how to find himself or help for—

Then . . . unbidden, came a thought . . . in a strangely familiar 'voice' that was not his own . . .

_There is one whom would understand much of how you feel, who knows much of the uncertainty and confusion you feel, who would benefit as much as you would if you two would join your thoughts on your experiences and questions._

Ron didn't understand . . . he didn't even have a clue as to what the voice was talking about . . . but at the same time, he felt a mental pull exert itself onto him.

But things were still going dim on him at times, or spinning around while something roared in his ears. Ron wasn't sure if it was real, imagined or something in between brought on by his concussion—

Then, it seemed as if all the pain/disembodiment/disorientation was swept from his body by a warm glow that for a brief period filled his head. Ron felt that he knew what it was, it had a familiar touch/feel to it. But he was too tired/tweaked out to try to place it.

But all too quickly it went away—

And Ron found himself sitting in a dark hospital room, the only illumination took him a moment to recognize, was the lights from various medical monitors and equipment—he was right next to a bed with a figure in it—and the figure spoke to him.

"It's a little early don't you think?"

Ron's head was suddenly clear as the last of the warm glow left it. Even so, it took him a moment to place the voice as it was so full of pain, slurred by drugs, beaten by depression.

Ron still didn't understand. And with another sudden insight, Ron realized, that maybe it was because he didn't _want_ to understand—

And something, or someone, was forcing understanding on him—

Or at least, forcing him to face what was in/with him, forcing him to try and understand.

. . . forcing him to encounter someone who just might understand—

Even so, his tone was that of completely surprise as he answered, "Bonnie?"

"Keep your voice down!" hissed the voice with an overlaying tone of apprehension from the bed back at him. "They've moved three others in here with me and they all finally stopped moaning or crying or asking for strange things and if you wake them again I'll just go crazy—"

But even as she was speaking, Ron had shifted him chair around so that, with a convenient glimmer of light from one of the machines, he could see Bonnie's face—

And she could see his in a similar small splash of light—

Seeing his face forced her to stop—

For a long time they stared at each other.

"You look like I feel," and Ron was surprised that, for all of the pain and depression in Bonnie's voice; as she spoke that line to him, she sounded like she was glad he was there, glad that she had someone to talk too. For lack of anything better to say, Ron gave her an automatic reply. "And how do you feel?"

"Like shit that's still being pounded on with a hammer," was her response without a trace of humor.

Ron was almost able to allow a corner of his mouth to twitch up at that.

And in the dim light, he wondered if he had seen, in a reaction to his reaction a similar motion to the corner of Bonnie's mouth.

But it vanished almost instantly . . .

Bonnie's eyes disappeared out of the pool of light and though it was dim, Ron could tell that Bonnie had in fact turned her face away from him, folding her arms across her sheet covered chest in a typical Bonnie fashion.

But her whispered tone was almost conversational, as if she really did want to talk 'normally' to him, "I suppose you think I should thank you for what you did Stoppable . . . whatever it was that you did . . . when you did what you did . . . " Then Ron saw her head come back just slightly as if she was watching him out of the corner of her eye.

"Just . . . what was it that you . . . ?"

Bonnie's head then turned back away— "I know, as if you would really tell me anyway." It sounded like she signed—

"I know," she continued and Ron kind of rocked backwards for her tone had turned tight and strained, "I know that somewhere inside me, I'm really really mad at you Stoppable . . . I was dieing . . . and I felt good about it. The first time I've felt good about something involving my life in way too long. My dying was gonna take care of Carla big time and . . . " and there was a shaking intake of breath as if Bonnie was fighting to control herself.

"And my dying was going to let me avoid all those people I screwed, all the hell that I was gonna have to go through; what I'm still going to have to go through with the courts and school and my former posse and their parents and the guy at the Space Center and Felix and _all_ of it."

Ron dimly saw a hand come up and rub at an eye as if wiping away tears.

"But you promised . . . or was it threaten, that I would have to face all that and that no way would you let me get out of it. You went so far as too pull me back from the edge of death—"

Bonnie's face then came around into the light and under the pain, the distress and the tears was a look of questioning disbelief, "but was that what it really was? That it . . . it was your anger and hatred of me that along with a magic sword and the power of life and death—?" Bonnie stopped . . . and after a long moment, said with a tone of frightened awe, "just what have you become Ron Stoppable?"

Ron just dropped his eyes/head and remained silent, for right now, he didn't know the answer.

Bonnie waited a moment for an answer before looking away again. But she continued to say—

"I should hate you . . . but I don't."

Bonnie's head dropped as did her voice until it was almost a whisper—

"The reason why is that I know that it wasn't anger and hatred and the desire to punish me by forcing me to live and face the rest of my demons that was the reason you saved me. I . . . I felt you when you were in me Ron; I felt that you were saving my life . . . just because you thought my life was worth saving."

Bonnie's breath then shuddered hard enough to actually shake the bed but her voice was still low with a tone that was lost in the wonder.

"To me, what has happened to me . . . what people have done for me . . . Tara . . . Tara and Felix . . . Felix . . . and now you. I tried to kill myself out in the old pioneers mill on Donal creek . . . and I really meant that I was going to kill myself. No hesitation marks, no one knowing where I was who could stop me at the last moment. I was going to _die_ Ron, I was!" And Bonnie's tone was such that Ron had no doubt of the truth of her words.

Another shuddering breath. "Tara somehow knew . . . and she brought Felix . . . and they stopped me. and then they . . . "

"Tara felt responsible," awe and disbelief and humbleness was now in Bonnie's voice. "She felt responsible for what had happened to me . . . for how I had fallen. And Felix saw it . . . and he took on the responsibility of forcing myself to face the next minute, the next day, the next week. Then you Ron . . . that . . . promise . . . threat thing I mentioned." and although she was talking to him, Bonnie did not turn her face towards him, "you forced me to accept the responsibility of the consequences for what I had done to Kim and beyond Kim, all the others." Bonnie then snorted, adding, "I had a hell of a time trying to explain that little cut your sword gave me because no one would have believed the truth."

There was a long period of silence, broken only by the sounds of the monitors and machines of the room's patients.

"It was then that I started to understand," Bonnie said finally. "And the kicker was that Old Man that came to see me when the strange/evil couple tried to make me their newest assassin."

Now Ron sucked in a breath. Sensei had actually come and seen Bonnie? What—?

But Bonnie went on forcing Ron's side thoughts to halt. "That Old Man made me see just how my life was my doing, my responsibility, for the bad and the good, and where it could have gone either way."

Now Bonnie looked at Ron and he could feel Bonnie's confidence in what she said. "That Old Man gave you the sword and taught you all those weird moves, probably starting on that exchange trip to Japan a while back," and Bonnie hesitated before—

"And although it really hasn't shown itself to the rest of the world, you became more and more responsible Ron . . . and that's why you saved me. Because you had to, because you would not let anyone die who you could save . . . and because deep down inside, under all the anger and hatred, you understand that everyone . . . even Bonnie Rockwaller, a girl who was as totally a loser as there ever was even though she managed to hide it and would never admit it to . . . that she . . . " Bonnie could not finish what she was saying but Ron knew for he had been there . . . and she had said it earlier—

_'Just because you thought my life was worth saving.'_

Bonnie had looked away. "Life and Death," and she was talking to the both of them. "Does it really mean anything?" Ron felt all his thoughts and feelings slowly come to a standstill. For although Bonnie had spoken a question, her tone conveyed that it was really an answer—

One that suddenly was more important that anything to Ron Stoppable.

"I was cheated of the death I wanted and tired so hard to make happen Ron. Twice! Once by my hand and once by Carla's. Why? God's Will? Whim of the Gods? Fate and Luck of the Draw? All of it and all of the above?"

Bonnie snorted and then spoke as if it was all so clear to her. "Because it all means the same thing Ron. Stripped of everything else, it means that whatever happens in your life is in your hands by what you do or don't do. That's what's at the bottom of what your Old Man was trying to tell me. Then after that—" and Bonnie's breath shuddered, "at the same time and on an even plane with it; even if you do or don't do . . . someone else may or may not do something and what you wanted to happen is either right out the window or it's turned into a home run because what you were doing was stupid in the first place and they saved you from yourself."

Ron could see the dim motion as if Bonnie was shaking her head in disbelief. "It's all soo intertwined, so interconnected and while all of us are responsible for our own little part . . . we may or may not be responsible for the whole thing that results out of it and we're not responsible for whatever someone else does whatever we may feel or think if we didn't force them to do it."

Bonnie's head slowly came back and Ron felt her eyes.

"I didn't force Tara to believe in me, to try anything to help me; to convince Felix to find me and for them to save me. They made that decision on their own. I didn't force Felix to take my abuse and listen to my bitching and to try repeatedly to turn my head and soul around; he did it because he felt that he had too. I didn't force Tara to place herself in between me and Carla with a gun in her face with the trigger ready to be pulled; she did it because _she did it_!"

Ron could _feel _the sincerity (which sounded all the weirder considering who it was coming from) as Bonnie said, "I didn't force you to bring me back from the brink Ron; you did that because it was just something that you had to do . . . because there's something in you that's special . . . there would have to be for you to see something in me worth saving after everything I've done."

"And I wasn't cheated of the death I wanted," and Bonnie sounded both surprised and relieved by the fact she was now revealing. "I realize now that I just wasn't meant to die. Your Sensei showed me a little of that direction Ron so if you see him, thank him for me. I understand better now." Bonnie fell silent for just a moment before—

"So thank you Ron. Thank you for saving my life. Along with Tara . . . and Felix . . . and believe it or not—Kim, you all helped saving me from myself and allowing me to see something of a tomorrow beyond all the hell and heartache that I have in store in the coming weeks and months."

Ron saw in the darkness, Bonnie shuffled her body around as if lowering herself in the bed to sleep. "Keep up the good work dude," she muttered as she settled herself, "and don't let anything keep you from doing what you do or going where you're headed. You can only do what you do Ron, and you're not responsible for anything that someone else does . . . I know that a lot of people were killed out there today. Some of the ones in the room here with me may not make it. Unlike before, when the girl I use to be would be callas and mean and disinterested, I now know different . . . and what happened is awful and it hurts."

Bonnie was all the way down now, her voice almost a whisper. "I know that a lot of things hurt you Ron . . . and you ignore them or hold them inside. I know that what happened today has to hurt you Ron. But remember that you could only do what you could and if something happened, only what you did was your responsibility. If something bad happened, it was the responsibility of someone else, either on purpose or not. Don't let it eat you Ron, cause I know that that has to happen a lot . . . it did with me . . . my folks divorce . . . my sisters abuse . . . I was there once . . . and we both know where it took me."

Ron sat there, as if in shock, understanding at last . . . and still not believing because . . . of all people . . . Bonnie?

"Ron . . . " came the soft, almost asleep voice.

"Yes," he answered just as softly.

"Thanks for coming . . . it means a lot . . . and . . . if there's any way . . . please tell Kim that I'm sorry. It doesn't make up for any of it . . . but I really, really mean it."

And Ron could tell that she did.

There was a long silence which was finally broken when Ron detected low steady breathing coming from the bed in front of him. Feeling suddenly very weirded out, Ron made his way from the bedside as quietly as he could.

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Ron didn't remember anything after rolling out of Bonnie's room. It was only when his own teeth chattering finally brought him back to reality that he realized that he was on the roof of the hospital staring at stars muted by the veils of smoke still floating over Middleton.

Ron thought about what Bonnie had said—

Yes! It all hurt terribly!

And the thought that fate or luck had caused—

But whoever the person was who had stopped him—

Ron had not put the hunk of wood into their hands—

He had not forced them to hit him in the back of his head knocking him out—

And they . . . whoever they had been, had had an idea of what was coming for they had taken the time to move him into the dumpster where he would be somewhat shielded—

And Kim had told him; she had tried so patently to explain to him as he had blubbered like a baby—

Whoever they were, they had ejected at the last moment and except for the force of the blast, they probably would have survived—

It hurt terribly—

And one reason now was because Ron had no idea who to thank or pray for for his still being alive to love Kim Possible—

Kim—

She had told him flat out that she hadn't cared that he didn't have her back. She'd actually had sounded angry that Ron hadn't allowed her to have his back if he had actually managed to try and pull off his crazy stunt—

Kim!

Ron turned the wheelchair about—

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Once again . . . alone in the dark . . . frightened . . . in pain . . . and _hurting_.

Kim's body could find no comfortable place or position in the bed as her agitated state would not allow her to lie still. So she had taken up station to wait in one of the chairs next to the bathroom, next to the box on the floor that one of the staff had brought her where she had made a nest for Rufus. The moments passed by like years.

Kim was so tired, so beyond exhaustion, beyond flat drop-dead dead-on-her-feet that she actually was having trouble walking and on the mental side, for the first time ever, she was regretting her life due to the pain and misery it was causing people that she loved and who loved her. At the edges of this raw newly torn wound was the accumulated grief from a VERY BAD DAY with memories of all the dead and injured and damage and at the peak of all that was Justine—

But that was all lurking in the wings waiting to spring on her later. It was in that wound inside her that was causing Kim to rage silently to the darkness against her life and herself and her ego and all of it for what it was doing to the boy she loved and wanted more than anything in the world. And what was happening was seemingly endless, going on forever with one disaster after another—

_It should be over_ she said bitterly to herself. _We should be together in each other's arms, sleeping against each other like we did in the planes coming back from the missions. We got through it, the big all-that sitch is past. We're torn up and bloody but we should be beyond it and AGAIN it's just not ending. Things keep happening! Ron! You can't torture yourself for what happened! You have to understand that_—

And there she stopped for she heard a noise—

And it was the door swung clumsily open—

And with about as much natural ability as an albatross has at opening a new jar of peanut butter with its wings—

Ron, visible in partial silhouette due to the dim 'night lighting' in the hall, bumped and banged in through the door. Kim's heart was instantly in her mouth, her fear and concern for him, for them, once again blowing up inside her like the tactical nuke from earlier in the day, blasting away her self-pity. In the shadowy light when the door was open she couldn't see Ron's face and once the door closed and near total darkness returned to the room she couldn't see him at all except as a darker spot in the darkness. She hunched forward in the chair, suddenly afraid to say or do anything. The dark form that was Ron rolled up to within her reach, the noise of him moving the chair stark and screaming in the pitch blackness.

And Kim almost screamed/jumped to the ceiling as something touched the hand on the arm of the chair—

And she smashed a lid back on it for it took only a nanosecond for her to realize that it was Ron's hand—

And it was trembling like a magnitude eight earthquake.

And Kim's entire body _shocked_ as his voice came out of the darkness.

"KP—"

A voice wanting, needing—

NEEDING—

As Kim needed just as desperately as the voice—

They grabbed each other in their need—and hung on for dear life.

And they held each other—

And held—

And the both of them; they who were in fact one and had been for more than a decade, they found understanding and support and love—

And Kim, finally after a long time in which time had stood still, she felt the boy in her arms whose arms she was in start to rise out of the wheelchair, standing, arms releasing her but Ron's hands immediately dropping down and grabbing hers. Kim's eyes, huge in the darkness with surprise and the unknown didn't leave the form before her as she felt herself being led across the room. With a new shock (she might have noticed but failed to realize), Kim knew with their bond-of-the-moment that Ron seemed to have made some sort of recovery . . . for her boyfriend was now not displaying any signs of balance or coordination problems—

But what was Ron doing—?

For Kim suddenly realized that he had led her over to and had in fact, had sat her down on the edge of her bed, gently but firmly (taking great care nevertheless to avoid or apply too much pressure to where she was most raw or burned) causing her to lie down—

It was only when she was all the way down on her mostly good side that the reality of it all came to Kim. "Ron?!? What—?!?" was all she was able to get out before she felt the weight/motion of Ron moving around even as he kept his hands on some part of her—

_Oh my God!_ she breathed to herself as she belatedly recognized what he was doing; _he's getting into bed with me!_

"Just like in the tree house," Ron's voice now caused Kim's heart to soar for;_ his voice! It's him, Ron! My Ron!_ He continued as he gently made his way up/on/in, "same rules and restrictions Ms Possible, but I need . . . you need . . . we need each other."

Kim felt her BFBF lie down beside/behind her taking as much care with his own body as to avoid hurting her as he had getting her down. Kim's eyes closed in bliss (even as the tears started to flow from them) as she felt Ron's arm come around her shoulders/chest above her breasts to draw her close (without getting anywhere near either a point that was injured or a point that was out of bounds).

Kim managed a shuddering breath and felt so much well up inside her—

Then her eyes snapped open even in the dark and she grabbed hard despite her bandaged hands at the arm of her love that was around her—

"Ron! I don't care what you think you might do to me when we're like this. But you will NOT . . . do whatever it is that you do. You will NOT fix me or heal me or _anything_ me do you hear! I will not have you spending so much as an ounce of your energy on me—"

Kim's eyes closed again as her words turned to a groan of almost rapture when Ron nuzzled in behind her ear, "not to worry KP. Due to a little voice that I heard in my head earlier, I have a feeling that we will once again have a good night and wake up feeling much better in the morning . . . and I will not be a part of it other than being a part of you."

Kim's bandaged hands had changed from a clutch to a desperate hold as she said in a soft, choked voice, "I want us to be a part of each other for the rest of forever Ron. After coming so close to losing y—"

"Shhssshhh!" Ron breathed gently into her ear. "We were both lost and now found again my Kimberly. And I would say that right now, we're definitely a part of each other."

Kim sniffed loudly, not wanting to releases her hold on him to wipe at her nose. "I love you Ron!" she said, putting the entire force of her personality into it.

"It's nice to hear you 'say' that KP."

Kim Possible actually managed a chuckle. "So don't plan on getting tired of it Stoppable. Because what I couldn't say before, I intend to now say it a lot."

And the comfort of each others arms and selves, the pain and torment of a body torn with injuries and a mind seeking to rid itself from the final vestiges of guilt and blame, the two teens subsided as healing sleep overtook them—

And sometime in the darkness of the very early morning, a healing glow came over the joined pair.


	44. Harder Answers

Sometime in the darkness, Bonnie came awake . . . and realized that her pain had lessened . . . somewhat. That made her wonder—

She flopped her head to the side and sure enough, she saw the squat shaped silhouette framed against the dim nightlight. Bonnie closed her eyes and—

"Thanks," she said in a barely audible breath. "I really don't deserve the attention."

Just as she reopened her eyes, the figure bobbed in a motion that Bonnie had come to recognize was a bow.

"I spoke to Stoppable like you asked me," Bonnie went on thinking that she knew the reason for the visit. "Although he hardly said a word, I could tell just how upset he was. I hope what I told him helped. And if it did . . . thank you for telling me what he needed to hear. I owe him a lot, and if I can help ease his pain, it pays a little bit of the debt I owe him."

"You make that sound as if you told an untruth Ms Rockwaller. Everything you said to young Stoppable San came from your being. Yes, you told him exactly what _he needed to hear_. But there is no need to feel as if he was . . .as you say . . . 'set up' for the conversation. A true friend, who knows that their friend is very troubled but for one reason or another can not talk to that friend, may well take another into their confidence who would be able to talk to that friend in need."

Bonnie snorted. "Ron thinking of me as a 'friend'. I think you should have your cook check your sushi. Ron will never think of me as a friend."

"Do not refuse to recognize an alteration in the surface of the path you are on simply because you believe it to be impossible, unlikely or . . . 'so not gonna happen'. You are now tied to Possible San in a most unique way. And it was that tie that brought him here and allowed him to believe the words you told to him . . . even if they were words which he needed to hear."

Bonnie groaned. "Great. I'm tied to Ron. As if Kim already didn't have about a jillion reasons to dismember me."

"Do not concern yourself with worry over Possible San. She has much of her own to work out and indeed, there are tough times ahead for her, as there are for you still and . . . if I may say it, for the both of you together. You may not understand any or all of it Ms Rockwaller, but you have taken the first steps and are now on the right path. Trust your feelings and your sense of right and wrong. You now recognize them again do you not?"

"I don't know," Bonnie said tiredly. "I sure don't want to be involved with that killer couple, but . . . God, at the same time I could use a drink right now."

"There is weakness and then there is being weak Ms Rockwaller. You have yet to learn the difference between the two." The form bowed again even as it said, "but that is coming. Rest well."

It seemed that Bonnie just blinked in the darkness and the form was gone again. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to come to the center again. She didn't want to think, she wanted to sleep. But . . . the Old Man always made her think—

Which Bonnie was, thinking that is, of Ron, of Kim, of the future, of herself, as she fell back into healing sleep.

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Awareness came suddenly—

_Painpainpainpain!_

Kim sucked in a hard breath and _that_ hurt even worse for while the torn and ravaged skin on her one side was 'up' in the bed, her bruised and cracked ribs were 'down' and they didn't like being caught between her lungs and the mattress one bit. She shifted and—

The pain on her 'up' side lanced through her again and she tired to figure out just why?

Then Kim felt Ron shift in his sleep behind her and the pain again tore though her. It was then that she realized that in their sleep, Ron's encircling arm had dropped below her breasts and was currently resting across the rawest part of her body.

Kim lay trying to decide what to do. And for the first time in her life, that hurt as well.

_Painpainpainpain!_

But this was a different kind of pain. For it was mental. Kim had no idea how long she had slept, and accepting the fact that her proximity to Ron was inflaming her physical pain—

But the other pain—the pain that was _deep_ inside her—

Kim was surprised that her dreams, and her screams and cries and wails and sobbing in those dreams had not woken Ron . . . or herself earlier.

_How many have died_ she wondered to herself, feeling like a tiny little girl who knew she shouldn't have written on the walls and could now hear her mother coming down the hall. How much pain and destruction had occurred that she didn't even _know_ about yet? She had killed Justine! How many others had she kil—

The thought caused her to choke up which caused a rage of pain to flame—

Knowing that she had to put some space between her and Ron (a thought which made her feel as guilty as hell despite the fact that she had allowed him that same out the previous night) and accepting the inevitable, Kim slid her 'down' side out as much as she could in the tight confines of the hospital bed, biting her lip _hard_ lest a whimper of pain escape her lips, or even worse, a hint of what was going on inside her being allowed to escape and maybe wake her love. It wasn't Ron's fault for what was happening to her and she knew that he would take it hard if he realized that he had caused her any pain and that he would be oh so worried and upset if he realized what her mental state was and Kim was too worried about _him_ after all he had gone through to take a chance on that.

Kim had to crush her teeth together as the pain surged through her while she tried as gently/quietly as possible, to slide off the side of the bed to the floor. The fact that her entire body had also stiffened up to almost wooden proportions only added to what was screaming through her. A half fall onto her dangling 'outside' leg/thigh/hip jarred those clenched teeth so hard that the nerves in them themselves lanced through her jaw/neck with another level of agony. Things dimmed a little as those already crying ribs joined in.

When her vision cleared, Kim found herself flat on the floor, sweating despite the coolness of the room. In fact the floor was cold and it felt good so she allowed herself to lay in it for a bit. But in the back of her mind, that practical/responsible part of her was also whispering to her that the longer she lay on that same cold floor, the more she would stiffen even worse than she already was.

So she again forced herself to move. But at least this time she had the full freedom of space around her (as long as she didn't get entangled in the underside of the hospital bed) to set herself up. Once she was on her knees, she actually took a 'look' around, noting that the barest of light was just starting to creep in the drawn curtain/blinds of the window.

That meant that it was about dawn and the knowledge that she had only gotten a couple of hours of sleep caused all her fatigue to come crashing down on her (on top of everything else). Her head drooped, her chin hitting her chest. It was then that she noticed that the hospital gown she was wearing had pulled open in her escape from the bed and was falling down off of her front leaving her completely exposed.

She moved to correct the problem. Although Ron was the only one in the room with her and he had always more than respected her privacy (even when there had been opportunities . . . none of which he had taken) but other people/staff suddenly coming in from outside were another matter. There was a robe waiting for her on the small table. Kim forced herself to her feet, wincing and sucking in sharp breaths at the stiffness and pain that seemed to inhabit every single inch of her body.

She glanced back at the dark form of her BF/BF in the bed. Ron had inferred that the 'healing' thing would happen in their sleep as it had that previous night but nothing felt even close to such a thing happening let alone to the extent it had happened before in Ron's hospital room when—

Fatigue caused Kim to stumble around the end of Ron's bed and over the rest of that thought. She was barely able to catch herself on its footboard. She had to steady herself for more than a minute in the darkness—

And it was then that she also realized, the shock of the stumble causing her to face the fact . . . she was scared. For the darkness that she had so recently thought she had defeated once and for all was brewing within her. It was the source/focus of her nightmares; it was the source of the trembling in her limbs and her heart that she was trying so hard to deny.

She also knew that it was something that she knew that at some point . . . she had to face—but not in the dark—not when she was so tired and upset! Kim lurched toward the bathroom, grabbing the robe as she went by the table. She needed light!

With the door closed Kim was able to turn on the light and banish the darkness. For the longest time she stood stock still, almost panting, slowly getting a grip on herself, slowly letting the light in the bathroom chase the darkness away. At last, with a final deep breath, she closed the toilet seat completely and sat down. When she knew that her eyes had adjusted to the light, she took a moment to consider the way she felt. After another moment, she peeled off the hospital gown.

Now she could look and tell—but—did it really—in order for Kim to really believe what she thought she was seeing, she unwrapped not one, but several of the smaller bandaged areas on her upper arms and torso.

She . . . had been healed . . . somewhat . . . only a couple of days worth maybe. Enough for everything to completely scab over and for everything to turn completely—

Kim turned and half standing, looked into the bathroom mirror—her face—

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Ron felt a gentle push at his shoulder. It was completely familiar but at the same time strange because it had been so long since he had last felt it.

"What Rufus?" he asked sleepily. There was a chitter in response that brought his eyes open because—

No, Kim wasn't with—Ron realized that he was alone in the hospital bed so Rufus had to be right. Ron rolled out, staggering as he feet hit the floor, grabbing a hold of the bed to steady himself as he looked around—

The heavy curtains had been drawn across the window. From below the bottom hem of the curtains extended what looked like Kim's legs. She was between the curtain and the window. What was she—

"KP?" Ron called softly.

There was no answer. Ron glanced at Rufus who made a helpless gesture back at him. Ron started around the end of Kim's bed, waiting until he was halfway to her before he repeated, "KP?"

There was still no answer.

At that point, Ron hesitated. Did Kim want space? Should he give her the same love, concern and courtesy that she had given him the night before by allowing her that space that she had given him? Torn, he stood at the end of his bed and tried to make up his mind.

Then, in a voice so full of pain that Ron knew that only he could have recognized it as hers—

"It hurts!"

And at this moment, at this place, Ron also knew that he was the only one who understood the meaning behind those cryptic words.

Ron understood that the reality of the last day had caught up with the love of his life. and it had happened much faster that he had hoped. Ron had known that Kim's concern for him had kept her from focusing on her own grief and agony over what had happened. He had prayed as he had gone to sleep a couple of hours ago that Kim would remain occupied with others due to her 'gotta help/anything is possible' nature until some time and space had placed itself between the events and her own self—

But now, Ron was confronted with something that he had always been afraid of, a Kim Possible trying to face events and take responsibility for events far outside her control, events and responsibilities which were not her doing but which she would take on regardless, making them her own—

And thereby destroying her.

This black thought had first occurred to Ron in the darkness that had engulfed him after Kim had nearly punched his lights out, then had taunted him about Rufus being killed at the instigation of Bonnie, a Kim who was out of control because she had no control, a Kim who had lost all sense of responsibility because events had spun out of her control, events which she wanted, she needed to take responsibility for and was unable to do so—

And Kim couldn't deal with it. So she had lost herself.

At that time Ron had lain of the floor of another hospital room at that time, sobbing to his very soul even as those parts of his mind in which his deepest hopes/dream/beliefs/convictions struggled to push the darkness back.

He had thought that he had truly lost his Kim at that time. But slowly, his own incredible resiliency had slowly reasserted itself, backed by the knowledge that what had been happening to Kim at that time was all manifested by outside sources and she had just been overwhelmed as any person would when trying to deal with a personal crisis of that magnitude. He had had faith in her and her own unquenchable well of optimism, a feeling that had, in the end, been justified when she had sought him out in his treehouse, determined to accept responsibility for her actions and make it right between them—

Because she had regained her balance after much searching and introspection and knew again, just what she was truly responsible for.

But in this case—

Kim Possible, the love and light of his light, an _ALPHA_ Alpha Female/Blue Fox who took her responsibilities and commitments sacred and serious to the point where it had endangered her sense and self several times (though never before to the extent that the dual attack on who and what she was which was orchestrated by Shego, Bonnie and Carla), was having the ultimate crisis of that sense and self. And although Ron had not seen what had transpired after he had been knocked out, everything else he had seen and heard about what happened told him that it was worse than he could imagine.

And Kim, in her own uncompromising way, seemingly unable to learn her lesson from the prior experience, forever unable to understand that while she might try . . . that she would never really be able to take the weight of the whole world on her shoulders . . . would try to take the burden of _everything_ on herself.

And it hurt!

It hurt her very badly—

For once, Ron had an idea of just how devastating that kind of a personal commitment to ones own responsibilities could be. He knew that he would never again sleep well or be able to truly relax and enjoy all the wonders of life until he had discovered the identity of whoever had taken his place on the hovership and he had been allowed to make some kind of balancing action or sacrifice to their family and kin.

"KP," Ron started, although he expected to blow/bungle this beyond all belief. Kim was the one who calmed/softened his usually wild, outrageous fears and panic. How could he possibly do the same for her?

But she was his Love/Light. He had to try.

"Kim—"

"I've been looking out of this window for a while Ron . . . . . . watching the helicopters and ambulances take injured from here . . . probably to Colorado Springs or Pueblo or Denver where the hospitals are less crowded . . . and I've been watching the hearses . . . so so many hearses leaving—"

Ron licked his suddenly dry lips and mentally tired to find _something_ to say, something . . . somehow . . . to respond to that worn, defeated, helpless voice—

But Kim—

"Is Justine's family going to hate me?" and her tone was now grief-soaked, miserable. "Are they going to come after us, me and you, our families in some way in their anger?"

Despite being behind the thick blackout curtain, Kim's soft voice carried her emotions to him. Ron's worst fears were realized for she was in pain on levels she had never experience before. And it was all Ron could do not to rush to her to try to physically comfort her.

"Is the government going to come after us?" and now it was fear. "The city for all the damage, the state for all the injuries and deaths, the . . . 'the community' . . . for screwing up their operation?"

Ron tried to reach her again, his "Kimberly" coming as softly as he dared but still loud enough for her to hear—

"Are our lives over Ron?" and now a trace of panic entered Kim's voice. "Are we going to be put in jail? Is 'the community' going to make us the scapegoat? After all of this, do we even deserve going on with our lives, with the missions? We're suppose to help and save people and property and because of us people were killed and property destroyed—"

This time Ron opened his mouth to _shout_ at her, determined to get through to her, _needing_ to help her.

But he didn't have the chance for in a heart-wrenching wail—"and in the panic and confusion and terror and grief and hopelessness I committed suicide and you tried too and through no actions or thoughts of our own we were saved but if one or both of us had . . . or we _both_ could have been alive without each other or we both could have been dead or . . . . . " and Ron heard her suck in a sob wracked with pain both physical and mental before—"or . . . . . . we would be like we are now, walking wounded. And then . . . what happens the next time? What will happen to us . . . even if we live . . . the next time."

"Kim—" was all Ron could breathe to her as his agony rose in time to hers.

"What happened the next time Ron?"

"KP"

"I'm ugly Ron," came the voice from behind the curtain that was so full of pain that it was flat.

Ron blinked as his brain locked. This was unexpected and unfathomable. He needed to get a clue, he needed to, "I—I don't understand—" he stammered not knowing if he was trying to get an explanation for that strange out-of-the-blue statement or simply playing for time to unfreeze his brain.

"You love me Ron," and Kim sounded like a lost little girl. "I know that without any doubt. And I know that no matter what happens, you'll never stop loving me regardless of whatever happens to me or us. But—" and again a sob wracked through the voice, "but this life—the missions—all that we've done. They're MY doing! I'm the one who started it and you've come along because you loved me, first as a friend and now more! But what about the rest? What about everyone and everything else Ron? _Everything_ that has happened to Middleton over the past couple of years, all the danger and damage and injury and now death with Drakken or Dementor or ALL of them coming here, is a direct result of me doing the missions! If I hadn't of done them, some other hero would have stepped up to handle the crisis and the villains. Someone else would have had to do it! And then all the damage and destruction that's happened to our home town, all the _everything_ that has happened to Middleton would have happened somewhere else!"

"Kim—? What—?" Ron was frantically trying to get a grip, to understand.

"I'm ugly Ron."

Ron didn't, and he didn't think that Kim could—what could she be talking about because—"K—Kim, you're beautiful. You always will be beautiful regardless of what happens." And everything in Ron's voice told the entire world that he meant exactly what he had said.

There was another sound like a sob from behind the curtain followed by a crying, "that's why it _not fair_ to you Ron. You come along on the missions despite being scared to death, you stay at my side and watch my back, you stand beside me even when I try my damnest to push you away. I KNOW that you'll always be beside me even if the worse happens and that's NOT FAIR to you. This life I've led you on is not fair to you. The job I called Justine in on that KILLED her wasn't fair to her. HER WHOLE LIFE WAS AHEAD OF HER!"

Ron cringed at Kim's shout. He glanced nervously at the door fearing the arrival of staff. He wanted, he needed to get Kim under control before someone saw her like this. "Kim," he managed through a bone-dry throat, "it doesn't matter to me. It never will."

"Are you sure Ron?" came Kim's almost bleak voice from behind the curtain—a curtain which suddenly but gently parted as Kim pushed her way out of it. Ron immediately started—

Kim . . . dropped her robe into a puddle at her feet.

Ron had time before the shock roared through him to note—

The rivers of tears flowing down Kim's cheeks—

And the fact that although she was standing in front of him . . . . . . nude—!

She wasn't naked.

Over the last many hours of the day, night and morning before, Ron had looked at her, but he actually hadn't seen—

The bandages on her hands ran halfway up to her elbows but the rest of her arms, which were down at her sides, were covered with an amazing variety of Band-Aids, bandages and gauze pads. Her legs from hip to ankle were likewise covered, not much more than a quarter of her actual skin showing.

The one entire side of her body from thigh to armpit was covered in thick padding with gauze wrapping covering her whole torso from her waist to her breasts (the breast on the same side as the padding was also covered by the wrapping) and many other pads and bandages dotted her torso. The one side, the cheek of her face was completely covered by a large square band-aid—

But Ron could not stop the anguish and appalling feelings from flashing across his face when he realized—

There wasn't a single millimeter of Kim's skin that wasn't a sickly swollen black/blue/purple/orange. In the harsh morning light from the now partially opened curtains, even her face looked like the worst kind of Halloween makeup, swollen lips, the one eye above the bandaged cheek swollen almost shut.

"I'm _ugly_ Ron," came Kim's firm no-nonsense pronouncement. "And you were in bed _holding_ this body! And—" and Kim's eyes closed in agony before she could continue. "Yes . . . this will heal. It will fade and go away. but what happens next time Ron? How many will be killed or injured in the next big battle? Will Monique, or Wade, or one of my brothers be killed trying to help us, help me, or will they just be caught in the crossfire?" Kim swept a quick hand across her black/purple/orange self. "What happens to this body, this body that you want to hold and sleep with, this body that someday you will make love too? What happens if the next time I lose an arm or a leg or a part of my face? Or what happens if I get cancer from some ray or chemical on a mission and lose a breast or maybe both of them—what happens if that happens before we even make love for the first time—?"

"Kim—it doesn't—"

"It matters to me Ron!" and somehow Kim managed not to scream at him. But her quiet rage was perhaps even more frightening. "I know that whatever happens, it won't matter to you because I know how much you love me. What I'm trying to say is that I love you so much that it matters to me. You've had too much of a hard life already as a loser and the subject of reticule and scorn and bullying and for what you've gone through on my behalf. You deserve better," and she waved one hand in front of herself indicating her own body even as her eyes closed in pain both physical and mental, "better than this. You deserve—"

Ron's "Kim!" was sharp and demanded attention.

Kim's eyes snapped open and she stood staring at her love as if suddenly shocked to silence by his confronting her.

Ron gave her his most serious 'serious face' and said, "thank you for caring so much. But I really don't think that you or I have a choice in the matter. After what has happened, I think we will both have to agree, that fate means for us to be together."

Ron felt those huge, frightened emerald eyes on him, sensed that he had gotten through enough to where his love was teetering on a brink that could go one way or the other—

He knew that he had to reach out and pull her to safety.

So he stepped up—

His hands just barely took hold of that swollen purple face—

"I think," he said just as softly, "that you know exactly what it is that I feel and what I want to say. I'm so sure of it . . . "and he managed just the smallest little smile and twinkle in his eye, "that I want you to say it for me."

Kim's one hand came up between them to stop in front of her mouth with her typical gesture of surprise and/or embarrassment and/or mental conflict—

But would the words that both of them knew she knew—would they come?

"KP," Ron breathed at her. "Yes it matters to you, and I love you all the more for it. But if our positions were reversed, if I was the one saying what your saying . . . what would you be saying to me?"

And with that, the words came naturally from Kim's lips, without thought or hesitation.

And that simple act of shared will, started to push the door closed on her blackness.

"What we have," and Kim's voice trembled as one set of emotions faded and another took their place, "is beyond physical. Whatever happens to our bodies doesn't matter as long as our hearts and souls are one."

Ron nodded; his serious deep brown eyes gazing into those watery open emerald ones. "It took me the longest time, starting in that warehouse in the Bueno Nacho Diablo factory to accept that fact. But both of us know now that it's real and true and it's just me and you—"

"Oh Ron—" Kim breathed as she tried to come in and hug—

But Ron held her off—'you're robe?"

Kim's face started to fall and a whimpered—"then my body—you don't—it is ugly to you—"

In response . . . Ron bent forward/down—

And with the greatest care, utmost gentleness and total enjoyment, Ron kissed Kim's exposed breast.

Kim's head rocked back as she thrust her throat forward, unbelievable feelings coming out of nowhere roaring through her. She felt all her fears fade, and their love, in this moment of not lust, but completely bonded tenderness, flamed even brighter.

Then Ron disengaged his lips and continued his downward bow until he was all the way down and then he came back up with Kim's robe in his hands—

And she was content to allow him to wrap it around her.

And as soon as she was covered, she felt the leap/scampering up her side and turned her head into her shoulder just in time for Rufus to, as gently as Ron had, hug her face, moments later, Ron held her in an equally gentle but comforting embrace.

"It's all about tomorrows KP," Ron breathed to her as he nuzzled in through her askew hair until his lips were next to her ear. "It hurts now, it's going to hurt even worse tomorrow, and it's going to hurt for a lot of tomorrows. I always think about when the D-Hall bullies first started to extort and pound on me. No one noticed . . . not even you. And that hurt so bad. But now I think back to the prom . . . and that first time we went to the mall and you told me in no uncertain terms just how you felt about our relationship . . . I was beyond being happy and it's the tomorrows like that that we live, hope and wait for. Because their like the dawn . . . it might be a while, but they are coming." Ron kissed Kim's ear. "And there will always be another one, another tomorrow, even if the dawn is a long way off."

Kim started to shake against Ron and she barely managed through the tears, "I'm sorry Ron, I'm so—"

Another kiss to her ear stopped Kim's next words; for after that, Ron told her softly, "don't ever be sorry for being you. Why do you think I have always been with you? Because of 'you'. Despite my fears and my phobias and my slacker ways, you have always been the single most important thing in my life . . . and I wouldn't have it any other way. We belong together KP, through thick and thin, and we'll always be there for each other. You were there for me last night. You KP'ed yourself right along when you saw me and I couldn't see you. You didn't give up then and because of you, we found each other when we most needed each other."

"I don't deserve you Ron."

"No, a brilliant sensitive highly-popular artistic type like Josh Mankey, a just-moved-into town, gotta-get-back-at-Bonnie one hit wonder like Bobby Johnson or a food-chain ninja motorcycle riding hottie who's really a syntho-drone named Eric were all much more—"

"Ron!" Kim actually shouted at him, pulling herself back out of his embrace, her face suddenly horrified/angry/hurt—

But Ron still held her by her shoulders and gave her his best goofy yet loving smile. "Stop Kim, think it through. Where does that train of thought currently running through your head lead?"

Ron saw Kim stare at him, uncomprehending . . . then he finally saw the gears start to work behind her eyes—

After a moment, she shook her head in wonder and managed to say, "it's you who doesn't deserve me Ron. I was so blind for so long, I couldn't see you and what you had been and meant to me—" then her eyes lower a little and just a little bit of her own sense of the absurd flashed when she said, "and I am more than grateful that you were blind, at least toward Tara when she had her crush on you."

Ron made a mock wince with a "touché." But he was very pleased with himself that he seemed to have his girl starting on the way back—

And he was even more pleased when Kim snuggled back into his arms with a, "help me with my tomorrows Ron, and I'll help you with yours."

Ron, taking care where to not grip her in any painful spot, Ron pulled her close, "you can count on it."

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Ron came out of the dressing room, feeling much more himself as he was wearing some of his own clothes. They had just finished rescanning him and he knew that there were a lot of questions on his 'amazing' recovery. He himself was a little worried about it as he knew the truth but didn't know how to explain it. He was seriously thinking that he had to mentally hook up with Sensei as soon as he could and advise him to tone it down for a while before things got too suspicious.

Those thoughts became much more acute when he looked ahead of him and saw MrsDrP, still in her wheelchair, (and looking much rested and once again in full control) giving him a very apprising glance as she continued what looked to be a very serious conversation with his two other doctors and a couple of techs. Ron's parents were sitting in a pair of chairs over to the side, looking at him with their own questions.

Ron stood; feeling like a naughty little boy while the neighbor explained his transgressions to his mother—

MrsDrP nodded and the group broke up. She gestured with her head for Ron to come over and start pushing her wheelchair back towards where Kim was. Even as he did this, his parents falling in at his sides, Ron felt 'the eyes' of the other staff on him. It was all he could do not to want to break into a run (which would definitely be uncool in front of his 'rents while pushing his hopefully someday mother-in-law).

They made it out into the hall from the imaging area and Ron took another look around. It was the middle of the afternoon and the level of activity in the interior of the hospital had fallen to 'merely rushed' as help and resources continued to come into Middleton. Ron knew that he and Kim and the others who had been directly involved (and were medically able to do so) had a series of meetings with 'government types' in a little while and a press briefing in the early evening.

He wasn't looking forward to that. He was still worried about Kim.

They had spent a lot of time after dawn, and long after . . . talking . . . just talking, getting more of the poison out of their systems, saying things and reveling fears that they could only say to each other. There had been crying and intense embraces full of pain, only some of which was physical.

Kim had finally fallen back asleep against him as they had sat on the floor with their backs to the wall. Calling on MMP (though he had paid in energy used and a splitting headache), Ron had gathered the strength to gently pick her up and put her into her own bed, which was fortunate because the first heads through their door shortly after noon was Kim's parents.

But now . . . there was this other problem—

Most of Ron's bandaging was gone as there didn't seem to be anything much to bandage. They were also allowing him to be mobile rather than having an overworked orderly push him in a wheelchair. This allowed him to do the same job for Kim's mom as she accompanied him and his 'rents with his round of exams.

And Ron knew MrsDrP well enough to know that she was _not_ satisfied with something (which they both knew).

"Ron—" and MrsDrP's voice was very pointed, which made Ron's throat very dry—

"Yes," and it was all Ron could do to keep from stuttering.

"I just thought I'd tell you," and while MrsDrP's tone was not _quite_ accusing, there was a definite 'I know there's something going on that someone is not telling me' tone to it. "That there has been a lot of . . . strange things going on around town for the past couple of days. People . . . have been . . . healing . . . very quickly. I thought I should mention this to you in case . . . someone asks you questions about how fast you have apparently . . . healed."

The entire inside of Ron's gastro-intestinal track had seemed to turn to desert sand. All he managed to do was give a rasp in reply, feeling the eyes of his mother and father on him.

"The theory," MrsDrP continued (now using a tone which said, 'and I don't believe a word of it'), "is that whatever it was that Drakken was doing, in the days before yesterday when he was 'tuning up' his device, the device was broadcasting an unknown radiation that miraculously 'healing' people."

Ron listened to this, his mind suddenly jerking at both the possibility and the obvious question that he—

"And that theory is strongly supported by the fact that the healing . . . such as you and Kim have experienced . . . has not only mysteriously happened to other patients in this hospital, but at other hospitals . . . and nursing homes and in some peoples own houses . . . in an indiscriminate pattern all around Middleton." MrsDrP then cocked her head around, her eyes giving Ron 'that look' even as she said, "strange . . . isn't it?"

It was all Ron could do to just dumbly nod his head, even as he marveled at Sensei's thorough planning and attention to detail . . . as well as wondering if Sensei had had to beg, borrow or steal every ninja in Japan to get the job done.

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Kim _hated_ having to depend on others to do basic tasks for her. But with her hands the way they were, she had no choice. At least if she had to have someone helping her—

"Agghh," Kim cried as another snag was located.

"Sorry," Monique mumbled as she worked to try and correct some of the damage that explosion, fire, smoke and electrical shock had worked on Kim's hair. Monique had shown up just after noon, looking and acting almost normal and she had helped Kim shower and wash the disaster atop of her head. The fact that Monique's own hair was in fact longer and thicker than Kim's left her with an appreciation as how to attack the problem and a ruthlessness to get it accomplished.

Which left Kim wondering if she was going to have any roots left when Monique finished.

But Kim also knew inside herself . . . that she was using the distraction of Monique working on her to put off—

"Mo—" and Kim's voice was very quiet.

And Monique, as if she knew all along that this moment was coming said back just as quietly, "you don't need to say anything Kim. It was said last night when you brought Ron to me. I know the pressure and emotions drove you to think and say things—"

"Yes they did," Kim came back loud and strong enough to override Monique's voice. "And we can go back and forth all day saying that we're sorry and ask for forgive' from each other and promise it will never happen again—"

And Kim's head turned about so that she could look back up at Monique, a wet look in her eyes. "So the drama Mo. I think we understand each other and we forgive each other. But there's something else left unsaid."

The look in Kim's eyes caused Monique to back up a step, her free hand going to her chest—

Kim's eyes burned emerald green passion with emotions too many to count, but her voice and tone were firm. "I'm having trouble with tomorrows Mo. But that's not your concern, Ron is helping me. But—" Kim had to stop and take a closed-eyed breath, "I'm afraid that one of these days, there is going to be a tomorrow that I don't see. And before that happens, I have to tell you something very important."

Monique, as if she knew what her friend was about to say dropped to her knees before her friend, "Kim, you don't have to—"

"Yes I do Mo," Kim shot back fiercely silencing her friend. "Just about the last thing I said before the bomb dropped I said to Wade because he was the only one I could say it to at that moment. But the thought was for everyone in my life. And I had a hell of a time saying it to Ron but finally I did. So I said it to Ron, I said it to Wade . . . and now I have to say it to you!"

Kim's bandaged hand came out and touched the trembling, open-mouthed black girls face. "I love you Monique. I love you as a friend and more than a sister. I've owed so much to you during our friendship . . . and now I owe you my life. But knowing that, all I ask is that if something like yesterday _ever_ happens again, remember that I love you even if I'm acting the complete bitch! And at some point, I will remember that and come down off my pedestal. Just be patient with me."

Tears were now sparkling Monique's eyes. Having dropped the brush, both of her hands came up to Kim's shoulders. Monique's voice was also choked and she managed only a single word, "girlfriend—". But that one word conveyed all of her feelings, including her own love to Kim—

And it was all Kim had to hear as the two of them embraced.

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Wade didn't know if he should be sighing with relief or tensing like a too-tight rubber band waiting to break. He was in enough hot water with his parents once they gotten a true idea of just what had happened to him and his friends in the Middleton industrial park and if it wasn't that he was being 'required' to attend the government briefings and the press conference afterwards, he would probably have been banished . . . to the garage . . . without any electronics . . . with all the tools locked away . . . and all the electrical outlets disconnected . . . until the heat death of the universe.

But considering what he knew now about the government, its involvement in the whole big mess over the last couple of months, and its manipulation of himself and the web during that time (more of his on-line underground friends where getting back and giving him the real scoop as to what had been going on), Wade almost wished that banishment had occurred. The only good thing was that Kim's mom (against the governments wishes Wade was absolutely sure) had arranged for everyone to get together before hand, for them to see, greet and hold each other for reassurance and support for now and the days to come.

Both Kim and Monique had held him very tight (which gave him feelings that . . . made him feel funny) and MrDrP had greeted him like an equal instead of a kid—

But it was the man talking right now that held Wade's attention.

Wade was beyond awe with Professor Allenford. It wasn't even a day since the big explosion which had cost him a leg (the trailer he had jumped behind for cover had been ripped right off of its frame, the remnants of the frame crushing Allenford's leg and cutting off all circulation to it) but although pale and obviously tiring easily, he had apparently insisted in attending this meeting.

As it was, right now Professor Allenford was talking, filling in Ron and Kim's mom both of whom of course had been away from the main scene of the action as well as the parts that that Kim and Monique had missed due to Kim's shock and grief over Justine's death—

"So that's why the crashing hovership was successful," MrsDrP was confirming what she had just heard.

"Yes," Allenford acknowledged with a nod of his head. "Although the device in the warehouse was feeding off of all 'energy' be it chemical or biological or even mechanical, it was not immune to the basic laws of physics. A direct kinetic attack by any object was capable of causing the device damage would render it inoperable." Allenford then dropped his head sighing heavily. "We actually considered ordering in a large army artillery piece. Using ammunition that did not explode, that is, solid shot, such a weapon could have literally blasted the device to pieces with relatively little harm. The amount of energy the device would receive from the shells flight path through its field would be negligible as would the loss of energy, in the form of the shells velocity, to the shells themselves. But when we found out that it would be at least a half a day to obtain such a gun with the proper ammunition, that option out of the question. By the time all that occurred the field, based on the rate of expansion that we were recording at that time, would have been more than several miles across and the evacuation and confusion and chaos—"

The Professor stopped and shook his head ruefully. Monique looked confused and asked, "but wouldn't a shell striking the device like that, knocking it out, wouldn't it have caused just as big an explosion when—"

The Professor shrugged. "It was our hope that the odds were too immense for the chance that the device would be knocked out by a single catastrophic hit. It was hoped when we discussed it that the device would slowly be knocked apart and would cease to function. Yes, there would be an energy bleed off of unknown amount and power . . . our calculations were based on the readings we had . . . prior to the governments interference but we think it would have been within tolerable limitations—"

Kim, despite her bandaged hands, was desperately holding onto Ron's arm as she could tell just how upset he was getting. Although someone else had actually done the task, it had been his idea to try and fly the hovership into the field and knock out the device—and Allenford was making it sound that it had been the worse thing to do.

"So that remains a total unknown," Allenford was finishing the reply to Monique's question. The Professor then stopped to remove a handkerchief and mop his face. He then sighed heavily, and after a moment, looked at Ron.

"What made you come up . . . with the idea to do what you tried to do?" and Allenford's face was intent and grim.

Kim bristled at the Professor and started to open her mouth to defend her boyfriend, and stopped with a shock when Ron's fingers gently covered her bandaged ones—

"When the . . . glow or field or whatever it was," and Ron's tone was truly angry but under control. What bothered Kim was that she wasn't sure if Ron was angry with Allenford or himself, "ate Kim, I—I was at a lost at first as to what to do. I just grabbed something and threw it at the machine. What I threw went through the field and smashed a light on the panel so . . . I knew that something 'thrown' at it would affect it. When I was in the parking lot and I saw the hovership . . . I knew that that _had_ to be big enough to knock out the machine if I _threw_ it at it."

Allenford's accusing stare didn't waver although he shook his head in acknowledgement of Ron's information. Kim couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Ron didn't know how—" and Kim then, as her brain engaged before her mouth, stopped. She had been in the process of gearing up to 'disconnect' the ground of the device which would have allowed Justine's devices under Wade's and Professor Allenford's control to send it into another dimension; which would have prevented all the death and destruction. There was no way to justify Ron's headlong actions which had caused such chaos. Kim sat, mouth open, straining every little bit of herself trying to come up with something that would take the burden/responsibility off of her love—

"No he didn't," Allenford said gravely. "But it is my understanding that he has a way of doing a half a dozen things wrong that somehow in the end turns out to be the right thing."

Ron jerked upright in surprise. Kim was as shocked. They looked at each other for just a moment, then back at Allenford, Kim voicing for them all—

"What do you mean Professor?"

Just the smallest bit of a smile came to Allenford's lips. "I was on a very long conference call all morning with my colleges at the institute and with other scientists around the country. The institute obtained some very interesting sensor readings from the device and the field and has been since the 'event' been undergoing extensive 'computer modeling'. I was able to give first-hand information and observations which they did not have prior. New modeling was done and—"

Again Allenford shook his head. "Kimberly, all of the initial conclusions leading to the decision for your entering the field were based on our hasty observations and calculations made prior to . . . the governments . . . interference. There was neither time, nor now in hindsight, any thought to 'rethink' those calculations after the thermonuclear device. Now. . . after the fact when I have been able to review the data . . . "

Allenford looked at Kim with hard eyes. "If, and that is a very strong 'if', you somehow managed with all your luck and skill to survive the literal hurricanes of opposing fields and tornados of conflicting dimensional interphases you would have encountered once you were inside of the warehouse; in the heart of an unbelievable conflagration and out of our sight; forcing us to rely on literally blind luck to protect you," Allenford hesitated and one could 'read' in his face the massage that he was trying to give, _you would not have survived if you even gotten that far _. . . Kim shivered at that unspoken message even as the Professor continued, "your ultimate goal, the grabbing of the 'power cord' for the device," Allenford gave a very negative shake of his head. "_It _was in fact, based on the new information and modeling . . . the absolute worst thing we could have done."

Kim's head reared back and one of her hands came off of Ron's arm to hover just in front of her mouth in shock. Allenford continued grimly. "Despite Justine's insulating field, despite the containment suit you would have been wearing . . . that simple act would have instantly made _you_ the ground . . . a biological ground . . . an important point one has to remember when one realizes that the device appeared to 'feed' faster and more efficiently on 'biological' energy—"

Both Wade and MrDrP snapped upright as their minds made the connection, MrDrP barely stifling an oath—

Allenford gravely nodded. "The dimensional rift would have become a door, a very large, very wide door because the interface would be in direct, biological contact with the planets surface . . . through you Kimberly . . . and it's very possible that the entire planet would have been sucked inside." Allenford snorted. "I don't believe that Drakken was aware of that factor in what he was creating. My colleges reviewing the notes from his laptop which Mr. Load forwarded to them while I was in route to the event site indicate that Drakken solely confined himself to the 'energy dampening' aspect of Vaultaslof's research without paying any mind to the possible 'side doors' that occur with any kind of practical work in energy/dimensional interface field development."

Despite Kim's mind, despite being more than shocked and horrified at the thoughts/possibilities just presented to her which would have destroyed her and the entire planet, she still managed the thought _typical Drakken, so narrowly focused on his main goal that he completely missed the bigger picture—thank God . . . or in this case maybe not._ And Kim shivered at the thought, which brought the reward of Ron's arm gently pulling free from her remaining hand and going around her in warmth and comfort.

Allenford's gaze was once again steady at Ron. "You will receive much censure and criticism from scientists of opposing schools of thought as to your actions Ronald, but it is my belief that despite the appalling cost, your solution was the right one. I and my colleges will support you to the utmost . . . but unfortunately I suspect that at our . . . government briefing . . . we will be told in no uncertain terms to say nothing about the circumstances surrounding the nuclear device. Because of that I am . . . unsure just how much information we will be able . . . or allowed (and Allenford looked positively grim when he said this) to correlate and publish as scientists. That may hinder very important people from completely understanding what happened yesterday adding to the censure against you."

Ron held Allenford's gaze steadily for a long moment before asking quietly, "will Justine get credit for everything she did?" and Kim dipped her head sideways into his shoulder in a silent 'stamp of approval' for his thought and his obvious determination to see as much made right as he could.

Allenford gave him back a sad smile. "I intend to use both my and the institutes influence for all it is worth to do just that. It is a testimony to her brilliance that with the world crashing down around her, that she was able to recognize the chaotic interplay between the thermonuclear reaction and the field. The field had not yet 'grown' large enough to contain and absorb the entire nuclear blast so a complex reaction was taking place . . . a reaction that had to 'escape' the confines of both the dimensional field and Justine's own containment field, but in a way that did minimal damage."

Kim suddenly nodded as the last piece of the puzzle fell into place for her. "And Justine did that by pushing the antenna of her KCD, physically through her own field into the other field where it was interacting with the explosion—"

Allenford nodded. "Allowing for a single 'ground' through which all that energy could safely be siphoned off through." Then Allenford ruefully shook his head with a sidelong glance at Ron. "And it was a good thing too. First of all, as an aside, if Justine had not done what she did," and Allenford spread his hands dramatically, "the device would not of course been destroyed by the thermonuclear weapon; its explosion would have escaped Justine's containment field and destroyed Middleton. Then . . . Drakken's device would have been left, vastly more powerful and unhindered to continue its expansion without outside interference for no one would be able to react from outside of Middleton in time to prevent it."

Allenford then looked back at Ron. "But considering what Justine did do . . . if the batteries on her KCD had lasted longer, if she, even though it cost her her life, had not been able to provide such an efficient ground that diverted/drained most of the energy; the fact is, the bottom line being that if things had been slightly different allowing for _more_ of the energy of the nuclear bomb had been absorbed by Drakken's device, the adverse reaction when Ron . . . threw the hovership into it, could have . . . would have, been much worse."

Everyone . . . with the exception of MrDrP blinked in surprise and alarm. Kim's dad just nodded grimly.

"What—how—why—" Ron bobbled until Kim's free hand came across her chest to grip and squeeze his shoulder hard.

Allenford lowered his eyes to the floor in front of him with a small shake of his head. "As simply put as it could be, part of what Drakken's device was could be considered like a capacitor. It took in energy . . . apparently from both dimensions, ours and the one it was tapped into and 'stored' it, then 'released' it, the dimensional field expanding when the energy was 'released."

Kim's eyes went wide even as she said, "that's why it seemed to 'pulse.'"

Allenford nodded. "The analogy can't be carried too far of course. One reason is that every time Drakken's device took in and stored energy, it did so at a higher level, building up its charge and causing, when the energy was released, to expand a little farther. As was said before, when the nuclear device went off, it was unable to expand its capacity fast enough to absorb all that energy. But what it was able to absorb exponetly raised that capacity over what it was before and—

Then Allenford stopped . . . and his eyes got very big—

A moment later . . . so did Wade's—

And a moment after that . . . Kim's dad—

And MrsDrP's eyes narrowed suspiciously . . . then her lips bared in an almost snarl—

For she was as brilliant in her own way as her husband and . . . she had a nasty, suspicious background—

"So . . . " Kim's mom said very _very_ softly, "the destruction and carnage that the hoverships crash caused . . . would _not_ have happened to anywhere near the degree it did if the rogue agents bomb hadn't hyper-energized Drakken's device."

Kim felt herself collapse against Ron as the thought—_so the disaster is really the government rouges fault. Not Ron's! _Despite her bandaging and pain, she flung her arms around her boyfriend as she felt him start to react, felt him start to collapse with relief—

_I hear the rouge is dead,_ came the savage thought to the red-haired teen as she held on tightly to her love. _I hope it was painful, because if I would personally give him some drama if I—._

All heads came around as the door opened and . . . Agent Smith walked into the room.

There was a hush as he stopped and looked around with hard cold eyes.

"This meeting is improper and all of those with security clearances know it. Especially when it come to having this kind of meeting and one of the attendees is someone who doesn't _have _a clearance." And he looked right at Monique when snapping that word.

Kim stood up as the anger welled up—only to feel Ron's restraining hand lightly pressing at the small of her back.

In response to her movement, Smiths head came around and their eyes met. His might have flinched under the blazing emerald green inferno confronting him and he definitely hesitated with half open mouth—

"We will not be briefed on what we will or will not say," Anne Possible said in a voice like a scalpel.

"We will not participate in any kind of cover-up or falsehood as to what we know happened yesterday," James Possible continued with a tone the temperature of liquid helium.

"We would rather give up our security and access clearances and totally remove ourselves from our ratings and status rather than compromise what happened," Wade Load told him in a tone calculated to infer just what that would cost the government if it happened.

"We will not allow what scientific benefits may be reaped from this sad, unfortunate episode to be suppressed and confiscated," Professor Allenford stated as if providing an analyzed irrefutable fact.

"And we . . . and _**I**_ will not be threatened or intimidated by the government which is suppose to be free and the responsible to the wishes and wants of its citizens. Which is suppose to protect me and allow me to live in freedom from false accusations and imprisonment," Monique Raven snapped, dressing Smith down in a fashion that was fitting for her anger and hurt.

"We wont be bullied, we wont run scared, we wont pay tribute to any plan or idea that would cheapen the sacrifices that were made by so many . . . or the sacrifice that was made by two—the first being a friend of my lady . . . the second one . . . he or she being unknown at this point, but not/never forgotten—" Ron Stoppable's voice cut like a handmade sword, Smith's eyes again wincing with each slice.

"We will not _lie_," Kim Possible said with all the force of one that knew that they would all do what had to be done, and that nothing could stop them.

After a moment, Smith was able to close his mouth. He looked once more around the room. He then glanced at his watch. "The news conference starts in half and hour," was all he said as he turned and walked back out of the room.

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The news conference was certainly an . . . event. If for no other reason than the debut of a new, expanded Team Possible.

For, with the exception of Professor Allenford who declined with a smile and words that he was only an 'adviser', Kim insisted that everyone be dressed in their 'mission gear' and that they all be together at the table in front of the mikes and cameras. Even Rufus (although he passed on the mission outfit), sat in a little chair behind a little table that was complete with a little microphone on the big table exactly between Kim and Ron. Monique; both scared to death and thrilled (she did NOT want to do it but was into driven into submission by a certain redheads full-on puppy-dog pout), managed to hold her own and even answer some questions.

Team Possible, as promised answered all the questions put to them honestly and to the best of their ability. Of the officials, the Mayor and Chief of Police of Middleton were able to answer most that was put to them, with only a few having to be referred to a higher level. The Tri-Cities County Sheriff and Office of Emergency Services Chief also were able to get by with only referring some things to a higher level.

The Governor acted mostly as a host and referred almost everything either down to the city and county level or up to the federal.

The Feds . . . for some reason were extremely tight lipped and when Team Possible would state some observation (Kim –'when the nuclear bomb went off'), or Doctor Director of Global Justice (still in her wheelchair) stated some fact ('taking over the stakeout was done against my best judgment'), their only comment was that the incident was still under investigation (but would be fully investigated 'we assure you').

Certainly an 'eventful' news conference.

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Kim, considering what little sleep she had had the night before, was a walking zombie when she at last was taken back to the hospital room she shared with Ron. The news conference had spawned an intense 'debriefing session' with state and local officials and Global Justice (the Feds being noticeably absent). It had allowed for Kim to finally get a decent meal into her, but she had to use all her focus and remaining strength to keep her head in the game—

It finally stopped for here when just for a moment Kim's head dropped and her chin hit her chest. At that point her mom as her doctor pulled her and Ron out of it. Now she shuffled along supported between Ron and Monique, only an occasional wince showing when something was rubbed the wrong way.

Kim's boyfriend and her best friend got her into the room and up sitting on her bed. Ron then pulled the full privacy curtain around (prior to standing all the way over at the window for absolute certainty) so that Kim, heavily assisted by Monique got out of her mission clothes and into a set of her tank top/lounge pants PJ's that her 'rents had brought from home. It was a slow painful process and every groan, sharply intaken breath or gasp that came from behind the curtain caused Ron to . . . groan/sharply intake breath/gasp.

When Monique finally pulled the curtain aside, Kim was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at Ron as if it was taking all of her strength to hold her head up. And it was in those exhausted emerald eyes that Ron could see that she was worried about something and Ron knew just what that something was.

Ron came over and gently cupped Kim's head above her ears in his hands, kissing her softly on the forehead. "What say we keep to our own space tonight KP. Wouldn't want some money hungry paper-attzi to catch a compromising photo of America's greatest teen couple."

"Ron, the word is paparazzi." Kim's snort and tone combined a mixture of her typical annoyance with one of his 'screw ups' and an unsaid heartfelt 'thank you' for Ron having realized her what her 'fear' was, that she did not want Ron to sleep with her tonight only because of the condition of her physical body and that she had 'feared' that if she said something to him directly he would have been hurt. The "you are such a goof," was overflowing with her love for him as she leaned her head forward into his chest, gently rubbing her forehead into him as his hands moved to work lightly about her shoulders and upper back.

"Another Ronshine service," Ron grinned at her even as he pushed her gently away, pausing to plant a light kiss onto the top of her head before both moving and holding her by her shoulders to get her all the way back down into her bed. As he did so, he took a glance around—

"Where did Monique go?"

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The young black woman was walking slowly down the hall, things within her all screwy and askew and—

Monique could not standby watching as the male half of the loving couple got his female other half settled, their shared love so plain and powerful and beautiful to see . . . so she had slipped silently out of the door to their room. Monique was trying so hard not to jell or feel hurt or do anything else to further tear open the huge wound inside of herself as she thought about her boy, still completely quiet and unmoving not so very far away and intellectually, she knew that Ron and Kim would never do anything to upset her but—

And she really did not know what would be accomplished by reaching her destination, what help there could be by staring down at Felix's pale still face—holding his cold clammy hand—

But she didn't care.

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Ron lay . . . staring up into the darkness, feeling the burdens of grief, the unknown, the future . . . and his own . . .

The lights had been out for several minutes and after a short time of obviously uncomfortable rustlings accompanied by grunts and snorts or pain, there was total silence from the bed next to him giving him the reassurance that the love of his life, the one who had ooh soo much more grief and way too many pieces of drama, had at last fallen into the sleep she so desperately needed.

Ron was hoping that he would follow quickly . . . but he was too wired.

And what was wiring him . . .

Any and every moment that his mind hadn't been occupied by some other thought or emotion since he had—

Would Kim, once she had worked her way through her grief and pain later think back to what he had done and would she get—

Why had he done that?!? Where had his head been?!? Should he have the docs check his head again for he had to have been out of his mind when he—

And he couldn't stop thinking about it—

And although he had done it to provide comfort and reassurance, now that he thought back at it, now that he realized just what it was that he had done—

It was doing things to HIM that he didn't want to happen. At least not here, not now. Another day in the privacy of his own room but the thought that he had actually . . . and she had let him . . . and he had _kissed_ it and . . .

Even now he felt himself flush and parts of his body react . . .

It was going to be a long night.

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Kim was pretty sure she had been out but something—

She came a little bit more out of her stupor. She was sure that someone was calling her name. But Ron should have been the only person in the room with her.

Then she heard Ron groan and she came more awake, wondering if something had happened—

Then Kim heard him groan again, followed by him again saying her name . . . in a husky tone she had never heard her BF/BF use before.

Kim started to sit up in her bed—


	45. Portentous Conversations

Anne Possible felt herself slump back into the breakfast nook seat; her sapphire eyes wide open in naked surprise, her mouth hanging open for the first time in she didn't know how long—

Then her brain JAMMED into gear, her mouth snapped closed, her eyes flashed in incredulous disbelief even as she came back forward into as aggressive a stance as she could considering her cast encased leg was up on the bench seat along side of her—

"Did you just say what I thought you said?" she let out in as carefully a neutral tone as she could manage (despite her flashing eyes).

But the target of her stare conveniently had his back to her as he made her some breakfast—

But as long as they had been together, Anne could tell that she was getting the back because her husband did not _want_ to face her after that statement. So she let him know in no uncertain terms that he definitely had her attention— "just what do you mean Jim that you think we should stop Kim from having any more missions?"

James Possible took in and held his breath as his wife spoke, hearing . . . heck _feeling_ her challenge beating against his back. He carefully set the knife and piece of toast he was buttering for her down, placing his hands flat on the counter before him prior to speaking.

Then . . . letting out his breath— "Anne . . . Kim . . . _died_!" His voice seemed to catch— "worse than that . . . she committed suicide . . . and only because of misinformation and communication with Ron . . . " and then James looked back over his shoulder so that his wife could _see_ the pale, barely held back, frightened worry that had flooded his features. "Thanks to Monique . . . our little girl made it . . . . . . but Justine didn't . . . and there was almost no distance between the two of them when that happened . . . and then . . . before that . . . if it hadn't been for Ron . . . and Monique . . . and me for gosh sakes, our baby would have died in that dimensional field of Drakken's when it first got started and tried to swallow her up—"

The father of Kim Possible turned to his wife, hands out as if pleading. "That was three times in less than a couple of hours. And the way that Kim was acting after Justine's death . . . how can we continue to allow one of our children to suffer that kind of pain, physically _and_ mentally—?" He had to stop when he saw just how dangerously his wife's eyes had narrowed, and his own narrowed in kind as some of his anger, rooted so deeply to his own fear and grief flashed across his face.

"I know that you don't agree with me," he said in a flat, defensive tone. "But _I_ think it's time that we step in as her parents and put some common sense into her life. I freely admit that all these years, I had nothing against her saving the world, going to Tokyo on a school night or having a demented mad-scientist ex-school chum with a deadly mercenary sidekick for an arch foe. But now she's almost a half a year away from graduation from high school. Kim's running out of time to get real! She's entirely too involved with the . . . mission life, she's obviously way too attached to Ronald if she actually committed suicide because she thought he was dead and 'she couldn't live without him' and we have to face the fact that she has no real prospect of normalcy ahead of her unless she gets away from the world saving and puts the brakes on her relationship with Ron and gets herself properly focused on a proper career that can tap the latent talent that we know is wasting away inside her."

Despite the fact that Jim wanted to wilt under his wife's stare, he fought to hold on because he felt this was important darn it!

"Yes," came his wife's reply in as flat a tone as he was using, "you are absolutely right that Kim is really really hurting with guilt and grief over Justine and everybody else who was killed or hurt in this disaster . . . but have you really thought through what you're saying? Yes! Right now Kim is probably incredibly remorseful and confused about her life and life choices and if I know her . . . she's probably trying to take the blame for all of it and everything going all the way back to the Trojan War." Anne then crossed her arms and _glared_ at her husband. "Sure! Fine! Take away the life that despite the current pain and grief she loves so completely, so deeply inside her—"

Anne shook her head as if what her husband had just said was only now fully registering with her brain causing incredulous disbelief to flare throughout her— "Do that . . . and I'll guarantee you, that you will convince her quicker than anything that she really _is_ responsible for everything that happened and _then_ watch what happens to her!"

"But dear," James said, determined to hold his ground—

"James!" his wife shot right back at him, "where have you been the last three months? When have you been the last forty-eight hours? For the last three months, you've seen an insidious plot which included US, you and I, as pawns to be manipulated in it, specifically designed to BREAK our daughter. And in the last forty-eight hours, you have just finished seeing the most graphic example of our daughter totally and completely DESTROYED by what we thought was an example of cruel fate!" Anne's face now reflected her realization that her husband couldn't . . . or wouldn't understand—

"And," James shot in while he had the chance, "that's _exactly_ why we have to step in! We have a responsibility as her parents to protect our child, something which we have sadly not been doing. You," and he pointed a sharp finger at his wife, "should have taken her in hand when she started coming home with all those injuries and tales of near-death escapes." He stood fully upright, folding his arms before him as his features took on a guilty look. "I should have firmly put my foot down when she started getting interested in boys. And I really should have jumped in hard when Ron went from being just a friend to—"

"Are you listening to yourself?" his wife breathed at him in complete amazement. "Do you have any idea . . . any _real_ idea just exactly what it is that you're saying?"

James looked at her as if _she_ was the one who was out of her mind. "Dear, I've given this a lot of thought. And the factors that you cited, the last three months and the last forty-eight hours exactly illustrate what I'm taking about and why we have to step in to take control of Kimmie-cubs life."

Anne blinked for a few moments, then snapped her head violently (despite her own residual pain/stiffness) as if waking from a bad dream. She then looked at her husband with an almost pleading look. "James . . . I know that what has happened has affected us as much as it has our daughter. And I know that there are things about Kim's . . . life that you don't like or aren't . . . comfortable with. But have you really thought this through? And are you letting the wrong feelings and emotions drive you in this?"

A perplexed look came over James's face. "What do your mean the 'wrong feelings and emotions'?"

"Listen to yourself," his wife urged. "Listen to the phrases and descriptors you're using in regards to our daughter. 'Little girl', 'baby', 'Kimmie-cub'. She's five years older that the twins James. She's seventeen and by any and all standards, she's a very mature and responsible seventeen. She's not a little girl, not our 'baby daughter' any more. You've always had a problem with that, a perfect example being that you keep calling her 'Kimmie-cub' when you know that she _hates_ that name at any time other than when she really, really needs you . . . like she does now."

Now it was James turn to blink in surprise as his wife had just clearly lost him.

Anne pulled herself up out of the breakfast nook and hobbled to her feet. Her balance wasn't exactly right and she stumbled slightly—

Then her husband had her by her forearms steadying her—

And with that physical contact, something else connected within the two of them.

And she knew that she had his attention.

"There is no way we can say that what has happened in the last three months or the last forty-eight hours has not gravely affected out daughter," Anne said with complete candor. "But if we . . . as her parents . . . effectively do the same thing using our parental authority that Shego and Carla Ethome and Bonnie Rockwaller and 'The Community' tried their damnedest to do to her . . . what do _you_ think will happen to her?"

Anne then moved her forearms to grip his as well, and locked her huge sapphire eyes into his. "And on top of that . . . think back what happened with Ron's mom tried to come between them, what Kim's reaction was—"

James tore his eyes away from his wife's, trying at the same time to pull his arms away— "that's why I think now that it's too much for her. They're too involved. Kim's not ready—"

"Kim _is_ ready," Anne shot back at him, holding fiercely to his arms, not allowing him to escape. "And despite you're denial of it, despite you're attempts to hold it at bay or keep her trapped in a box away from the cruel world . . . you can't! You do realize don't you that the age of consent in this state in seventeen and that both your daughter and her boyfriend can have intimate relations legally and you can't do a bloody thing about it except make your daughter angry and hurt at you and her boyfriend . . . no . . . the young man that WE BOTH know is going to be a wonderful loving husband to our daughter, your going to make him angry and scared of you?"

Now true anger came into James's face and he jerked his arms away from his wife. "That has _nothing_ to do with what were talking about," he hissed.

"It has _everything_ to do with it if your talking about having Kim 'put the brakes on her relationship with Ron'," Anne growled back. "You _saw_ how Kim reacted to Ron's mom breaking them up. You SAW how she reacted to thinking that Ron was dead. You've _**SEEN**_ how the two of them act when they're together and just how much they depend, support and love each other. And that same _bond_ they have extends to the missions, to their whole life! James! As much as it hurts you you have to; you _have to_ recognize that Kim is no longer yours! She's Ron's! And he's hers!"

A shocked look of denial came over James Possible . . . and Anne Possible used it to move in . . . "And at the same time," she said very gently, "I know that you want her to follow in your footsteps, like the twins, become a great scientist. Heck, I wouldn't cry if I could convince her to follow in my footsteps and enter the medical profession. But whatever she does, while we might be able to influence her . . . do you really think for one minute that in the end, she'll make her own decision for whatever is best for _her_ and the only real influencing factor in it will probably be Ron?"

Anne shook her head sadly. "And do you really think for another minute that despite what happened the day before yesterday, that while yes; she's grieving, while she's upset, while she's hurting both physically and mentally, that at some time, a time that you and I will probably think is too short a time, she and Ron will be walking out of our front door to some kind of strange hovership telling us that their on the way to Istanbul on a school night because they have to save the world."

The shock and denial was even worse now . . . because Anne could see behind it the understanding and acknowledgement that her husband would not, could not bring to the surface—

Anne opened her waiting hands to her husband, her voice going softer, "and that's why right now you can call her 'Kimmie-cub' and it will help her. Because she is grieving, she is upset, she is physically and mentally hurting and she needs us . . . her parents, she needs you . . . her father, to be strong and understanding and considerate to her and the boy whom she has proven to the whole world beyond any doubt that she loves more than life itself." Anne gestured, and felt a little shocked when James did not respond and come too her continuing to instead, stand and look at her, stubbornness creeping in behind the shock and denial.

"You will never stop being her father," Anne tried again. "You may always advise and influence her. But she is my daughter . . . she is you're mothers granddaughter (and Anne internally winced when she saw the flash behind his eyes when she said that) . . . she will go her own way and do whatever is in her heart and mind . . . and she loves you! Don't ever forget that."

James looked away from her, saying with a vehemence that surprised her, "I'm not happy, and I feel that you 're wrong somehow . . . "

Anne again shook her head. "Maybe I am . . . but at the same time, Kim has made the life that she wants to live. And like it or not, we . . . if nothing else, acquiesced to that life. And it's too much a part of her . . . much too important to others, for the whole world really, for _us_ to suddenly try to change it at this late a date. Kimberly's an _adult_ James and all your denial will never change it. It will only hurt her . . . and you . . . and this entire family if you do."

James's head came back around enough for him to look sidelong at his wife. "I know this is hard Anne . . . but I don't want it to come between _us_. We've got too much to do to help heal this city in the weeks ahead. But I'm not convinced by your arguments and I still think that we had a duty to try and change our daughter. If . . . Kim dies . . . I for one will never forgive myself if I thought there was _anything_ that I could have done to prevent it. If she gets angry or hurt at me . . . so be it. At least she would be alive to do so."

Anger of her own now flashed back into Anne's eyes. "And you think, you can actually say to yourself that you can _force_ Kim to make such a complete change in her entire being—"

"It's for her own good—" and Anne for the first time could hear the desperation in her husbands voice.

"She's an ADULT James," Anne snapped back. "She's more mature that _you_ are in some ways and (she added when she saw the fury swell into him at her accusation) and she's certainly worlds more responsible than _**I**_ was at her age."

James's head snapped away again, Anne feeling that old wall rising again. It had only been when it had been obvious just where Kim's life was going that Anne, after fourteen years of marriage, had told her husband what had _really_ happened (or at least what she could tell due to security) during her teen years that had set her on the road to her own involvement in military 'special ops' and 'The Community'. She also knew that James Possible, given what had happened to both his mother and his older brother had laid a major case of disbelief/denial that he steadfastly refused to show in regards to the fact that his wife had not been the simple 'college girl' that he had married. Anne once again felt the tension that rose between them whenever the subject came up and the two of them just stood as if waiting—

"I think we just need to agree to disagree on this," James spoke suddenly and Anne could almost _feel_ his torn ragged emotions. "I will not push it right now. I promise to wait until our daughter has recovered and regained her balance—"

"Fine!" and Anne did not disguise her anger/disappointment. "But at the same time you will not do an end run around her by having one of your 'little talks' with Ron—"

James's head now snapped around and the anger in his eyes told Anne that this was exactly what he had planned to do. His mouth opened—

"NO James! Not unless you want to just move into your office at the center! Kim needs Ron as her partner and soulmate for her to recover and regain her balance!"

"Fine," was all James Possible said as he turned back to the task of finishing his wife's toast.

And Anne Possible suddenly felt very tired—

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_It still hurts—_

That was the first grumpy thought to cross Kim Possible's mind as she slowly became aware that she was awake. _What's the matter with who's doing the 'healing' sitch? Can't they do it two nights in a row?_

She was on her back with the upper portion of the hospital bed raised halfway to sitting . . . and she knew that she had been in that position all night which added a certain grump factor of its own. Kim reluctantly opened her eyes to face another day—

And it took a moment for them to focus on something that she wasn't sure that she was seeing—

Then her brain made the connection and she waved at Monique to come on in. The black girl, who had been just barely peering in from the corridor door slowly came into the room.

The look on Monique's face clearly showed that her friend was afraid that she had woken her up but Kim, while not always an early riser tended to wake early anyway, at least on the days of her early every-other-morning runs. So Monique timidly approached the bed, glancing over toward the blanket-covered form in the bed beyond Kim—

Monique's look caused Kim to look—

Over at the sleeping form of her Best Friend/Boyfriend—

New apprehensions exploding in her middle like multiplying mice—

Kim forced herself to look back to Monique who was now coming up to her side, clearly worried—

Kim reached out her near hand to her friend, "no big Mo, chill."

Monique didn't look convinced but she took her friends hand (being careful not to squeeze the heavily bandaged item) and whispered, "hey girlfriend, how's kickin?"

Kim gave a weak, "I'm kicked."

Monique felt her throat tighten up. She had not had any chance to talk to Kim alone the previous day. During her time when she was helping Kim in the shower and working on her hair, she had been focused on getting her friend squared away. But Kim's reaction to her the previous afternoon, the emotion in the words that she had spoken to Monique had triggered all sorts of alarms. After that, it had been plain to Monique during the rest of the time they had been together as she took in Kim's body language and watched her eyes when Kim listened or spoke; let alone the way Ron was hovering protectively over her—

All that had made Monique realize that Kim was hurting just as bad inside as she looked on the outside. And knowing her friend as well as she did, Monique could guess all the reasons.

What Kim had just spoken confirmed all those fears for Monique. But before she could find the next thing to say, Kim gave her a look back, "and how are you doing? And why are you here so early?"

Monique gave an off shoulder shrug. "Wanted to check in before heading to school—"

Kim's eyes shot wide, which was enough for Monique to answer the unasked question with a look/tone of resigned disbelief. "Barkin refused to cancel classes. Said that normal routine was 'just what a bunch of pansies needed to help them cope'."

Kim closed her eyes and settled her head back tiredly. "The man must have had his head rattled inside of a tank one too many times."

Monique looked at her black and blue friend . . . and despite all the reluctance inside of her . . . "can I help with any of it Kim?"

The reaction was as Monique feared. Kim's eyes then squeezed tight and her whole face scrunched up into one of hurt/grief. The hand in Monique's twisted around in the black girls grip and grabbed a hold of hers, holding fiercely—

But no words were said. The only sound in the room was the ragged breathing that went on for several minutes as a battle to control so many thoughts/memories/emotions raged through the red-haired teen

Finally, the face and the grip relaxed. Kim's other hand came up to wipe away the silent tears that had streaked her swollen, discolored cheeks. And with a final, rasping deep breath, "no Mo, not just yet. But thank you so very much for caring. I have a lot to work out before I can start talking. Ron is helping—"

Kim looked at Ron as she said that . . . and there she hesitated—

Monique saw the look and something that had been nagging at her since she entered the room now became clearer. The look that Kim had given Ron when Monique had first come in, the look she gave her BFBF now—

_Worry for Ron? So much like Kim_ Monique thought. _Putting everyone else first, even if it's fear and worry and grief. That's why—_ and Monique knew it for a fact. That was why she wasn't going to take no for an answer when Kim said she couldn't talk. She really didn't have time right now as she had to get off to school shortly but this afternoon, Monique intended to do some serious Kim wheedling and—

"I'm not sure what to do Mo—"

Monique smiled gently. "You can't expect to girlfriend. And you shouldn't try. You went through so much back on—"

"I'm not sure what to do about . . . Ron Mo—"

Monique blinked. She knew that Ron had to have almost as many issues as Kim did. But the two of them were so tight; Kim had just _said_ that Ron was helping and yet . . . the looks that Kim had given his sleeping form . . . the naked worry and . . . could it be fear in her tone at this moment—

Then Kim turned to face Monique . . . who tired not to take in a sharp breath when she saw her girlfriend's expression. An automatic, "Kim . . . did . . . something happen between you two?"

Kim's eyes closed in pain again. "Something . . . is an appropriate word Mo. Not as bad as it could have been but still—" and she looked back over at Ron and Monique could _see_ . . . was it . . . could it be . . . fear and self-loathing in those emerald eyes?

"I was . . . hurting pretty bad yesterday morning," Kim's voice was soft, which only conveyed better the tortuously strong emotions hurtling through her. "Ron rescued me though," and that brought a trembling smile to that battered/bruised face.

There was a long silence, Monique staring at Kim, Kim staring at the covered form in the other bed. When Monique was about to start to beg for a continued explanation—

"I saw how ugly I looked Mo. I saw that in the mirror in the bathroom. Then I looked out of the window . . . at all the ambulances and medevac helicopters . . . and worst of all . . . all the hearses . . . and I saw how ugly I was."

Kim's head dropped until his chin was resting on her chest. "And seeing all that . . . all the death and injury and damage . . . seeing all that that had been a direct result of something I did . . . I believed that I _saw_ how ugly I was on the inside Mo. I know—" and Kim turned, now with a fierce look just as Monique was about to sharply object, "it's not _my_ fault, not _my_ responsibility, but at that moment it felt like it was _**ALL**_ my doing Mo. And I saw the end of all things, Ron's life, your life . . . my life. The ending of all of it was only a matter of time and circumstances." Kim's tone went _hushed_ as she said as if in disbelief of the enormity of it all. "I saw just how _ugly_ **EVERYTHING** is!"

Kim's head turned back to the sleeping figure of her boyfriend, wonder now blossoming in her face. "I tried to show Ron just how ugly it all was Mo. I dropped my robe (Monique's sucked in a breath, hand going to her chest) and I _showed_ Ron just how ugly I was on the outside . . . and I tired, I tried so damn hard to explain to him how ugly it was on the inside—" and Kim's head dropped as her eyes closed and a quite sob came up—

But she forced her head up and the sob down and said in joyous wonder—

"Ron . . . saw through it Mo. He realized what it really was, he _knew me_ so well that he . . . " Kim turned her head once again to gaze at her boyfriend, saying almost reverently, "Ron made that hideous confession . . . something beautiful Mo. Only God would know where that goof keeps his romantic side buried. But when it comes out—"

"What did he do?" Monique breathed.

Kim . . . smiled. But it was . . . a different smile for her face. Awkweird, embarrassed, full of love and wonderment. "He kissed me," she replied as her bandaged hand left Monique's to touch herself just where it was that her BFBF had kissed her, 'here—"

"Nooooo wayyyyyy?!?" Monique almost had a heart attack from not being able to scream those words—

Kim's head snapped over to look at her girlfriend, shock, surprise and sudden dismay ripping across her face as if Monique's exclamation had broken her train of thought/made her realize just what it had been that she had been saying—

Kim slapped one hand to her own mouth while thrusting the other out towards Monique who almost bit her own tongue she snapped her mouth closed so fast—

After a moment, Monique who now looked as if she had shrunk three sizes whispered, "sorry," even as she shot pleading glances at Ron's sleeping form.

Kim seemed to actually force herself to pull together. Then, without any further hesitation, the worry and fear back in her tone, her eyes looked as if she was pleading with Monique to understand, "Mo, I'm worried about Ron, about violating . . . about going beyond his . . . about how he might react to what happened—"

Monique firmly figured out that she didn't have a clue as to what Kim was trying to tell her. She guessed that Kim was talking about Ron violating his 'promise to the respected elder' thing, but all he had done was kiss Kim's boob—

Monique then caught herself. This _was_ Ron they were talking about. The boy who was able to turn midterms into Armageddon and the end of humanity. But Monique couldn't understand Kim, who was usually so calm and cool being this blown away by—

Monique caught herself again. Considering what she had been through in recent days and months, her friend was more than in a position not to be her usual calm/cool self. But Kim had made it sound as if what Ron had done had been _wonderful_! And it had to have done them both good. And who knew, maybe it might be a starting point for the two of them to start working their way out from under the cloying, confining restrictions that the stupid 'elder' had placed them. Maybe Kim and Ron could start doing—

Monique caught herself a third time, her eyes suddenly going wide. What if the two of them, last night, at last alone and unsupervised—

Monique looked at Kim, not knowing just what she herself felt, and asked in an almost whisper, "Kim????? Did something happe—"

Monique could not believe that it was possible for a face which was as completely black and blue and swollen as Kim's to totally/completely _blush_ in embarrassment the way she now saw her friends—

"Nothing happened Mo—" and Monique blinked at the tone of Kim's voice, a tone she had never heard her friend use before—

The tone of one trying to convince themselves that nothing _had_ happened—

"Wha—" Monique started—

Kim stopped her with by crossing her arms in front of her chest accompanied by what could only be described as a 'mulish' look. ". . . . . . I . . . . . . we . . . . . . did . . . . . . but we didn't—" but as she didn't so, Kim found that she couldn't look Monique in the eye . . . forcing herself to turn her head away—

"What happened Kim!" and Monique hit her friend with her full-on 'you're not going to get a moments respite until you come clean' frown.

Kim continued to look like a mule for almost a whole minute, staring at the wall somewhere behind Monique—

But, as Monique suspected, her friend desperately _needed_ to say _something_ to _someone_ she could trust—

Kim's face/eyes/voice dropped . . . embarrassment and chagrin literally dripping from her every word—

"R—Ron's a . . . a boy Mo . . . . . . "

Monique bit off the urge to reply 'well duh!'. But she didn't release her red-headed friend from her glare.

"I guess . . . "Kim continued, her voice becoming even more embarrassed, ". . . he reacted . . . to what he did to me . . . and after he thought I was asleep last night . . . I heard him calling my name . . . and I woke up . . . he . . . I guess you could say . . . that I caught him . . . relieving . . . some tension . . . "

Monique, who had made it a personal specialty to come up with phrases that could only be interpreted and understood at times with intense concentration and thought knitted her brow as she tried to interpret for herself just what it was that Kim had just—

Then the black girls eyes got very, _very_ big around. "Ron was—" and she slapped a hand over her mouth, not knowing whether she should laugh or feel sorry for the both of them. She had a brief but very florid mental image—_I know that Ron has some kind of weird thing about monkeys but I never thought about him 'slapping' his, and Kim caught him at it—_

When she was convinced that she had control over her emotions and face, Monique pulled her hand down and away and managed to say, "I take it that it was an awkweird moment?"

Kim's head dropped until her chin was almost touching her chest. "You don't know the half of it—"

Now Monique's face totally folded in puzzlement. Kim was trying to act as if nothing had happened and yet something obviously had and Monique, trying as hard as she might, could not puzzle out . . . so she asked the most obvious question. "Kim, you said you did . . . and that you didn't . . . . . . you and Ron didn't—" and Monique let her voice and look finish the question.

Kim pulled her arms in tighter, looking down to the floor avoiding Monique's eyes. "MO, I am right now nothing more than one big huge walking bruise that hurts to even think. There is absolutely no way that I would want . . . Ron's and mine's first time to be under . . . you can't even think that we possibly . . . we never touched each other, never left our own beds—"

Now one of Monique's eyebrows tried to climb up off of her forehead. Kim had all just admitted that something had happened, that whatever had happened had been a mutual 'thing' with Ron as a participant . . . and if they hadn't, and they had stayed in their own beds, and hadn't touched each other . . . but something had happened from which Kim was worried about Ron having an adverse reaction from that stupid promise he had made to someone—

" . . . . . . oh—" Monique said softly as the (red) light went on over her head, once again feeling for her friend. A moment passed as she again got control of her voice before she stated, "so I take it that Ron . . . working to relieve his tension, caused a similar . . . reaction in you?"

Kim snorted and replied with a tone that screamed 'I know that you're laughing on the inside at this' "all I can say is that I'm . . . physically paying for that period of weakness." Kim's head came up and she shook her head in what seemed amazement. "I've heard of the pleasure/pain thing but I never thought I'd experience it like that. It . . . . . . was . . . different . . . almost scary . . . and I still ache right down to my bones . . . from both the pleasure and the pain."

"And I take it," Monique was carefully choosing her words, "that Ron was aware of what you were doing as well?"

Kim's reply was the epitome of miserable embarrassment. "Lets just say . . . that we talked each other through it."

"Oh gawwwwwd," Monique just could not keep the smile off of her face nor could she keep her voice low enough that Kim didn't hear that exclamation. The returning look from the redhead was an interesting mixture of righteous anger and pleading desperation—

_Phone sex without the phone_ Monique thought. _Something that any normal regular loving couple might do if they wanted when they reached that level in their relationship. And Kim is worried sick that Ron wasn't ready, that his 'promise' will cause him grief and their relationship trouble._ Inwardly Monique sighed, for once at a loss about she could help both of her friends, who had already been through so much, through their latest 'bump' in their relationship. It didn't help that she glanced at her watch and saw that she had to get moving if she was going to be on time—

If she was going to do her other 'mission' this morning—

"Don't let it worry you Kim," and Monique tried to sound confident and 'knowledgeable' for her friend. "Ron knows how much you need each other right now. He's not (I hope) going to let this come between the two of you."

Monique hoped that it was the pain and discomfort that was the underlying cause of the 'just can't accept it' look in Kim's eyes. Monique felt her own insides tear when she was forced to say, "I've got to go, hang in there girlfriend. If you really need to talk about it, I'll be all ears this afternoon."

Kim reluctantly looked away. "Have a good day Mo—"

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As Monique left the room, Kim lay back into her bed for a moment trying to summon enough energy to get up to go to the bathroom—

While in the bed next to her, tears ran from the eyes of Ron Stoppable, who had been awake long enough to hear the entire conversations between the two girls—

And who felt as low as low could be that he was causing the love of his life so much pain and worry.

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Monique didn't really remember the walk that took her to this place. It was like she remembered leaving Kim's room . . . now she was standing in front of another hospital door in another part of the building.

Her thoughts were a whirl. From the dealing with the relationship of her two best friends, whose life and love was so complex yet so vibrant and evolving—

To her own life—

And . . . his?

Then she found herself—

. . . as she stood looking at the still figure in the bed—

Time didn't seem to pass—

_We didn't even have a chance to have an halfiversary—_

_We both admit that this is the first serious relationship we've ever had with another person._

_We both knew even if we didn't say it . . . that we're both so unsure and insecure and afraid of doing or saying the wrong thing—_

_We didn't really say that we loved each other until I felt I was threatened by Bonnie—_

_We will never really have sex . . . he can't give me . . . I can't have his children—_

_We . . . are we really losers and we just don't know it—_

_We . . . do I really love him . . . and does he really love me?_

_We were both so scared . . . and both of us so determined not to show that to each other or everybody else—_

_We . . . why did we allow this to happen—_

_We . . . I . . . he . . . I—_

_We wanted so much . . . we just didn't know . . . or didn't understand what it was that we wanted—_

_We can't—_

Monique closed her eyes and felt the tears leak out of them, a single small sob escaped her lips before she covered her mouth with her hand.

Holding hear breath, she bent over/forward and kissed Felix Renton on his cold forehead—

_We need to find out just what we are Felix . . . and we can't do that until you come back to me—_

_We need—_

_**I **__need you so very very much—and I want you to need me—_

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Kim came out of the bathroom . . . and was halfway to her bed when she realized—

"Ron?" she said to the empty bed/room, it coming out a whisper of dread.

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Ron found himself back on the roof staring out over the layers of haze and smoke that still covered much of Middleton. He desperately wanted someone he could talk to about what he was feeling—

But who?

None of the men in his life . . . including the 'elder' who was the chief villain in this sad soap opera called his love life, were anyone he felt could 'advise' him on this subject. His memory of his 'talk' with Barkin during the Moodulator incident left Ron fearful of a likewise reaction from any other 'elder male' who might be able to give him advice. And it wasn't possible for him to approach anyone in his peer group who could give him advice he could trust. There wasn't one person whom he could trust—

No . . . that wasn't true. There was . . . one.

But . . . . . .

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Kim had sat on the edge of her bed, staring numbly at the empty bed before her for so long her bare feet had become numb from the cold of dangling in midair. A loud noise out in the corridor brought her back—

And with a groan she lowered her head into her hands.

_Ron was awake while Mo and I were talking_ was her miserable thought. _We've slept together enough for me to know what the sound of his breathing is like when he's asleep and I was just so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I didn't pick up on it. He's . . . _and she threw her head back to stare up and the ceiling. _Oh God why? we don't need more drama in our lives. We need each other too much right now. I need him so much right now and he's probably thinking that I'm hurt and angry over his stupid promise, that I'm . . . _Kim shook her head violently as she brought it back down, trying to get a grip on it all. Her eyes went narrow as they again fell on Ron's bed . . . and . . .

_No. We've been through this too many times before. It's sooo not gonna happen this time. WE, Ron and I, we have to talk it out. If we're going to be a couple that is going to spend the rest of our lives together, we _have_ to work things like this out, without running away from each other, without standing back to back in angry silence . . ._

_And that starts right now!_

Despite her pain and stiffness, Kim almost jumped off of the bed, her look, the determination on her face, her movement seemingly sure and focused—

That is; look, determination, movement . . . being those of Kim Possible, the girl who could do anything.

It took only moments for robe and slippers. Then Kim stood in concentration. _Could call Wade on the phone and ask him where Ron is at. But this is between us. Now were would he have gone? Even as tanked as he is, he wouldn't go far away from me at a time like this._ Kim's eyes swept the room, and fell on the wheelchair that Ron had been using before the prior day.

_Ron, where did you go when you were so lost and alone the other night? If I know you, you'll go back to the same place._ Kim walked over to the wheelchair which had been unused since Ron's return to her that night, her eyes, now emerald flames, danced over it with their old intensity—

Then those eyes widened just a little, a little smile came to her face, and Kim Possible turned and walked determinately from her hospital room.

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Ron Stoppable knew that there was really only one person he could, he should, he had too talk to about what had happened. But other emotions; embarrassment, chagrin, worry, fear of an angry confrontation, confusion about his emotions and feelings—

But there really was only ONE person—

So Ron stood up from the bench set at the edge of the roof liberally surrounded by discarded cigarette butts. He once again stared out over the haze and smoke, mentally trying to prepare himself.

He then turned to start toward the roof access—

And there before him stood the one with whom he had to talk too.

Kim stood with her head down slightly which only accented the look in her eyes. She had her bandaged hands in the pockets of her robe and she was slowly rotating her shoulders/body back and forth.

Ron immediately 'boggled', his heart, heck-his whole mass of internal organs going into his mouth—

Then . . . he actually _looked_ in Kim's eyes—

And he saw that they held exact same things that he was feeling—

And ever so slowly, he knew—

And after several forever's, she holding her insides as tightly as he—

Ron reached out his hand—

Kim reached out with one of her bandaged ones—

And holding those hands, they sat back down on the bench—

And hesitantly, but with the awkweird determination of two who intended to work it all out between the two of them, they started to talk.

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On an A/C unit behind the quietly talking couple, a shadow that left no shadow sat watching, the shadows insides, as much as it refused to admit it, just as knotted as the talking couples. Multiple temptations rose within the shadow, the foremost to be to get close enough to eavesdrop—

But honor was all . . . and loving couples involved in earnest, heart-felt discussions deserved privacy.

And the shadow was no more.

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On a hill above western Middleton, a short, stocky, immaculately dressed man used a pair of binoculars to peer down into the smoke and haze of the destroyed west side industrial park. It only took him moments to do so, after all, at this distance, total destruction was very simple to view. Besides, he couldn't afford to take long. He had barely managed to shake his 'tails' long enough to come to this place to view the destruction. And if he stayed out of his watchdog's sight for too long, it would be more search warrants and 'discussions downtown' for him. Something that he wasn't in any tolerant mood for.

So a moment was all it took, then he was walking back to his car, getting in behind the wheel. That in itself was galling. When he had been back in Jersey, he got chauffeured everywhere, but is this hick mountain town—

A town that had cost him so much—

His hands squeezed the wheel and his teeth were gritted as the anger once again surged through him.

His operation, after all the effort to keep it at the lowest profile and off the Feds scope was totally destroyed. Most of his investment was now smoke and ash—

But his daughter—

That made it personal.

Yeah, sure, it looked like she had totally fucked it up herself, too inexperienced, too greedy, too impatient. But he had been just as bad at her age—

But while he had learned, often being beaten and bloody and several times shot full of holes, it had been other 'Jersey Boys' who had done it, not some local hick slut goddamn cheerleader.

And the redhead bitch and her boyfriend—

Yeah, it was personal now.

And Saul Ethome always paid his personal debts.

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Kim licked dry lips, trying to get her heart and stomach to stop doing back flips.

Because she herself wanted to do them because she just couldn't believe that she was so lucky to have Ron and for him to be just so—

"So you're really okay," she said a little timidly. "You're not angry or freaking out or about to go off the end—"

Ron gently took her swollen face in both of his hands. "Maybe the Ronster is getting complacent," he replied just as gently. "Maybe he's rationalizing too much, maybe he's just getting tired of other people mucking with our lives." Then his look, his eyes got so intensely deep into hers that her breath was taken away, "maybe he's getting so frustrated and horny and he knows that his love is even worse off with those feelings that he just wants to DO something about it—"

And Ron had to stop and take a deep breath, a calm like a sheet of cool water flowing over and through him, a change so deep that it too took Kim's breath away (and left her amazed and wondering just where and how he had learned to DO that).

But it was a calm and in control Ron who finished his statement, "so, in the Ronsters well considered opinion, my 'promise' to the 'respected elder' still holds. And will continue to do so. So as much as we might want to my Kimberly, the day when we can both be completely nude before each other and completely joined in every way is still off in the future somewhere."

Kim knew that she shouldn't, but she couldn't stop herself, "but . . . other 'things' are possible?"

Ron, then despite his 'serene calm' blushed mightily, which caused a similar reaction in Kim. She hastily added, "but if not its okay. If you can wait I can make myself wait—"

It was more than a minute before Kim realized that Ron was now licking his own suddenly dry lips as he tried to formulate his thoughts—

"When we're ready Ron," she told him quietly. "We're both too raw and sensitive right now. Lets get our heads back into the game . . . then we can talk about it . . . and I'm sorry for going there."

Ron managed a grin, and his words were all too husky when he said, "I'm defiantly going to be looking forward to that conversation. I'm gonna be all about that conversation—"

Kim reached up and touched his hands still holding her face. "You are such a goof . . . and I love my goof."

After a few minutes of _very_ careful kisses, Ron led Kim back to the roof access door, holding it open for her like a true gentleman.

"So," Kim ventured, intending to just make conversation because she wanted to with her BFBF, "I could tell that you came to the roof the other night by the markings on your wheelchair wheels from all the gravel. It this was where you spent all your time when you were . . . upset? Weren't you cold up here without a jacket or anything?"

"I wasn't up here all that long KP," Ron answered as he got the door closed behind them. "I spent a good amount of the time with Bonnie—"

And Ron instantly cringed as he felt in the very air the sudden change in the time/space continuum behind him.

"You spent time with Bonnie?" The tone that held the words was indescribable, but the fabric of reality that exists at the heart of an exploding multi megaton thermonuclear bomb would probably be the closest approximation.

_I am SSSSOOOOOOOO dead_ was all the thought time that Ron had before—

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Bonnie Rockwaller heard the change of noise volume from the opening/closing of the room door. All of the curtains around her bed had been drawn as the other two patients (the third had not made it) she was sharing a room with had been getting bandages changed or sponge baths or whatever and no one had bothered in pulling them open again. She paid no mind as she floated in a pool of detached pain (they were reducing her meds).

Then she swore that she heard an animal like grown from beside her bed. She turned and looked—

And it was only that detached out-of-body feeling that kept her calm—

For her eyes met a pair of emerald green ones that were blindingly iridescent with rage, hatred and something else that she couldn't quite make out—

"I understand that you're sorry for what you did to me," spoke that voice, almost unrecognizable through the fire/ice edged sword tone.

Bonnie stared at the redheaded figure, too startled to think—

But instinctively she knew, that if she was ever going to make any headway in keeping to The Old Man's path, the conversation she was about to have was going to be the hardest . . . and yet most important one in her whole worthless miserable life.

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A/N Sorry this took so long but between my reduced writing time, a whole bunch of home improvement stuff that had to be done before the holidays and a major headache with one section of this chapter to get it the way I wanted it, things kind of got bogged down.

That being said, I would like to wish everyone a Happy Holidays and a Good New Year.

Hopefully the next chapter won't be so much of a problem.

Once again, thanks to everyone for reading and to those that review. As always, it is much appreciated.

Once Again

I Remain As Always

Your Humble and Devoted Servant

The Wise Duck


	46. Clear and Honest

The silence was deafening . . .

Two teen girls, one standing, one reclining in a hospital bed—

The air as tense as a bowstring pulled to its optimum tension to deliver a killing shot—

And neither one of them wanted to say the next word—

But the eyes . . .

While both sets of eyes were green, any resemblance ended there. One pair, normally sea green, were completely washed out by pain and drugs and soul wrenching emotions, red and bloodshot as they looked out from under blackened, swollen eyelids. That same blackness spread across the rest of the face including the massively inflamed (and very possibly broken) nose and puffed-out multicolored cheeks. A red, thick tongue that looked as if the tip of it had almost been bitten off licked the lacerated lips and gums. A large Band-Aid set squarely in the middle of the forehead set off the display of color even more.

The other set of eyes were emerald green. But only one of the pair could be seen clearly as the lid of the other was almost closed, the face that held them even more swollen and blackened than the first. But the one eye that was visible was at the same time; red with rage, frosted with hate and far distant with too much fatigue, too much emotion, too much of everything. Several bandages covering parts of that blistered/blackened face including almost the whole of one cheek next to the almost closed eye but at least nothing appeared to be broken. There too, a dry tongue licked at dry lips as a venerable hurricane of emotions warred across those damaged features.

A war so intense, that the emerald-eyed teen simply could not speak, could not go beyond the first sentence she had spoken.

So . . . . . .

"I'm sorry," Bonnie said softly, trying very hard to speak clearly in spite of her thick-tongue/desert-dry mouth, her eyes unflinchingly on Kim.

Kim's eyes blinked and her head reared back as if she had just realized that her next class assignment was 'Home Ec-II'. Then the green fire flared to unbelievable intensity—

"You're sorry?" came Kim's reply, and if she hadn't been standing directly in front of Bonnie, the brunette would not have recognized the voice as that of her former rival such was the emotion in it. "Do—do you think for one second, for one _instant_, that 'I'm sorry' is going to count for _anything_ after what has happened?"

And to Kim's surprise, Bonnie did not look away. "No I don't," came the oh so sorry, oh so weary, oh so regretful, oh so . . . sincere (?!?!) reply. "And I don't expect it to suffice with any of the others I screwed so royally either. But considering," and at this point, Bonnie's eyes finally had to close as a shuddering sob went through her. With another imminent in her, her eyes reopened and Kim could _see_ just how much Bonnie meant what—

"Considering that I have absolutely nothing else to give, nothing left of me to take, nothing in existence to offer, 'I'm sorry' is all that there is."

That last phrase had softened to just a whisper. But tears were now coming out of the brunette's eyes, and the sob that had been waiting welled up.

Kim's eyes flared even brighter as her face hardened. _This is an act. I _know_ it is. Rockwaller, I've seen you in action, I've seen you with those sisters of your, I _lived_ with you when we were stuck together. And I will _not_ be manipulated by you._

"Save you tears for someone who will believe them!" Kim snarled. "I could care less about anything you have to say. In fact the only reasons why I came here was to tell you a couple of things. And first and foremost of those is that you will; _YOU WILL,_ stay away from Ron. I don't want him seeing you, I don't want you talking to him, I don't want him anywhere _near_ you after what you almost did to him."

"Kim," came the reply through the quiet sobs, "I have not asked for Ron's help. I have not—":

"You had to have done _something_," Kim snapped.

"I did _nothing_," Bonnie half-sobbed back. "Ron's just doing . . . whatever it is that he does. I—"

"Ron—" Kim started again . . . then she had to force herself to bite back the words, her eyes snapping shut as everything whirled about her being. _Ron . . . is acting differently,_ she thought. _I . . . wanted . . . I . . . encouraged him and everybody else to encourage him . . . to start being more . . . I mean, he did all that computer work with the hackers to identify the double conspiracy against us, he took on Shego all by himself even though it royally pissed me off, he tried to sacrifice—_ and Kim had to clamp down hard on that thought/memory. _NO_, she yelled inwardly to herself. _I'm thinking too much into this. This is not so the drama; it's right there please and thank you and I'm NOT going to allow myself to be swayed!_

"I—" and Kim had to _force_ that word out of her mouth, _force_ her eyes to open and look at Bonnie again, "I don't know and frankly . . . I don't care what happened that made Ron do what he did. But it almost _killed_ him! And if you," and such was the turmoil inside her that Kim found that she just couldn't speak any more.

But Bonnie—

Although the tears were still streaming down Bonnie's face, she was laying quietly against the upright portion of her bed, looking at Kim with that exhausted/beaten look. Her eyes blinked a couple of times to clear the tears from her vision, and then that thick, beaten, exhausted, choked voice asked, "what are you going to do Kim? Hate me to the end of all days? Happin right now thank you. Beat me bloody? Been done. Kill me?" Bonnie actually gave a halfhearted snort, "that would make me and a whole lot of other people real happy. I wont even make a sound. Better do it quietly though so you don't disturb the other patients and in a way where the staff thinks it's not deliberate."

Kim's whole body was shaking with emotion as one hand came out to point right into Bonnie's face. "I'm warning you Rockwaller—"

Bonnie's voice was sad, "Kim, I know very little about what has happened the last couple of days—"

"Shut up Rockwaller—" and Kim's hand balled up into a fist.

"Kim," and Bonnie's voice had gotten _very_ soft. "I accept all the responsibility for—"

"And that's suppose to make up for everything that happened," Kim was _straining_ to keep from screaming.

"No," Bonnie replied flatly. "It's not, and it never will. Nothing I ever say or do will make up for what I've done. Not to you, not to Ron, not to Felix or Tara or any of the kids or their families that I've screwed. I _know_ that Kim!"

"Do you Bonnie? Do you really?" Kim's voice just wallowed in sarcasm. "I have no memory of you caring about how _anyone_ but you felt. You are the most self-centered—"

"Tell me something I don't know Kim—"

"I," and Kim's voice was as flat and hard as a steel plate, "can't believe that _anything_ could make you change Bonnie. Nothing that could make you care—"

"I'd never . . . died before Kim. " Bonnie's voice was barely audible. But her eyes . . . "Nor did I ever have anyone care enough about me to try and bring me back."

That hit Kim like someone striking her in the face with a wet towel. Her injured eye closed even as the good one flared wide, her mouth flailed for a second as her mind tried to fend off, then the fist/finger was again pointing— "I meant what I said Rockwaller. If you come near Ron—"

"He saved my life Kim," Bonnie's eyes, suddenly dry, bored into the girl standing in front of her. "Ron saved my life, Tara saved my life. Felix saved my life. I owe them more than I can repay." Bonnie's hands opened wide before her reclining form. "I didn't ask for their help. They . . . just . . . gave it." Bonnie's hands came up to touch her own battered face. "Hell, I even tried my damnest to get Tara and Felix _not_ to help me. I didn't deserve it, I still don't. I didn't want them too. I _wanted_ to die. I _tried_ to die, tried to take the coward's way out. The night _you_ came into my psych ward room I was _pleading_ to God and heaven that you would kill me. The night Ron—," but Bonnie broke off for Kim had suddenly turned away—

_No, _Kim screamed to herself and one arm wrapped tightly around her middle despite the pain, the other hand going up over her face/eyes. _No, no, no! Bonnie can't be telling me the truth! I can't believe—_ Kim dropped her hand and looked up at the ceiling. _She __**DIED**__! Or was dieing. And . . . GOD!, why did Marcella show me that STUPID video? She did it; Bonnie did it trying to HELP us! I HATE her and—_

"Are you going to kill me Kim?" came the voice from behind her—

And something . . . tugged at Kim's insides . . . taking her what seemed like forever to realize—

_There's no . . . taunting in Bonnie's voice. In fact . . . she sounds like she's . . . pleading with me. She . . . Bonnie . . . she really wants me to . . ._

There was almost wonder on Kim's face as her head came back around to see—

Bonnie's eyes immediately locked with hers . . . and there was no hesitation in the brunette's voice. "Yes, I want to die so badly that I tried to do it myself. Yes, I would welcome death because," and Bonnie had to stop and she hesitated and she had to force herself to say, "I'm a coward Kim. A selfish, egotistical coward who only knows how to rant and rave and bitch and manipulate and lie and cheat." It was then that it looked like Bonnie had to _force_ herself from going on. She lay there, eyes locked on Kim, lower lip trembling so hard that Bonnie's voice broke with the emotion. "I know you hate me more than anything in the entire universe Kim. And I don't blame you one bit." Then the eye contact was broken as Bonnie's head dropped down into her chest. "I hate myself even more than you hate me. I had no idea that someone could hate themselves as much as I do right now."

That . . . shocked Kim . . . to her very core . . . and unbidden, came the memories of a time not all that long ago when Kim herself . . . _I wouldn't make a bet on that Bonnie because I probably know _exactly_ what you're talking about._ The red-headed teen again turned her whole body to face the girl in the bed, her very center shaken by the possibility that—

"But," Bonnie continued on softly, still looking at the hump in the sheets where they covered her feet, "I think I realize that I'm not going to be lucky Kim. I'm going to have to live with what I did, live with those who I did it too, hating myself all the while. Ron . . . when he—"

Kim felt her hackles rise again despite the fact that she was now beginning to doubt her own anger and righteousness—

_But Bonnie keeps bringing up Ron and I can't, I won't let her have another chance at him._

"I don't know what I might do Bonnie if you try to push it with Ron. After what has happened, I—I don't know just how much I trust myself—"

With that, Bonnie's eyes came up once again to Kim, questions now in them—

But . . . in answer to what Kim had just said—

"Kim . . . we need to be clear and honest about this. _**I**_ need to try and make you understand because it's somehow terribly important to me, important in ways that I probably don't even recognize and understand yet—"

"What could you possibly mean by that," Kim snarled back. "After I walk out of here, the only place I intend to see you again is during the trial that I'm sure is going to happen for what you did to Ron . . . and NO I _DON'T_ believe that stupid video of what happened with you and Carla—_and keep trying to convince yourself of that Kim._

Bonnie's face now clearly showed that she was starting to get upset at that fact that Kim kept interrupting her. She obviously intended to get out what she had to say regardless of whether or not Kim wanted to listen—

"KIM!" and this time, despite the vow to herself that she would tread carefully, Bonnie snarled back at Kim just as hard, "would you get it through that thick, red-headed/hot-headed, all-too-righteous-and-holier-than-thou skull of yours that I wanted nothing to do with Ron. He kept coming to me! I didn't ask him to save my life! I _**WANTED**_ to die goddamn it! I was welcoming death . . . if for no other reason that it was going to put that bitch Carla away until she's too old to get screwed without paying for it! Haven't you heard what I've been saying? I'm a coward! Do you think for one minute that I want to face Winer and Goody and their parents? Felix's mom? Do you think I want to see Ron's little friend the Mole Rat after what I tied to do? I'm scared shitless of having to face anyone from this town again."

Kim stood stock still; eyes glued on the pale battered/beaten girl in the bed before her—_a coward? That wasn't a coward that I saw fighting Carla Bonnie. It wasn't a coward that forced that confession out of that . . . that . . . and all the kids who saw it, and recorded it and are passing it around are going to know that Bonnie._

_Like I know it . . . even if I can't admit it to myself._

_And . . . if you can't admit that to yourself . . . what else is here Possible that you're intentionally refusing to see?_

_Something simple like . . . Bonnie really _is_ sorry for what she has done?_

_But . . . I can't . . . accept . . . that . . . from someone I hate._

_Hate!?!_

Kim again turned her back on the bed as she felt so much inside her shift about due to the realization that—

_Hate?!? Is that what it's really all about Kim? How much hate is in you right now? How many people have you _hated_ in the last couple of months?_

Kim's hand came up to her mouth as she felt her eyes suddenly go wet. _I've _**HATED**_ Bonnie, Sherrie Winer, that Jock from the cheer camp, Shego, Monique, Ron, MYSELF! Both worst enemies and best friends! Is that what you're becoming Kimberly Possible? Someone who if someone else messes with you or yours, screws with your wants and needs . . . that you automatically HATE them? Even when Winer and my friends were only trying to do you some good rather than harm. And now I understand Shego better—and Bonnie? Could I possibly understand her? Or is all I care about . . . is hating?_

"What am I becoming?" Kim whispered to herself.

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Bonnie lay in the bed, the haze of pain growing more and more in her being/world as the effort to try and talk to Kim drove against the fading meds. Part of her was wondering just why she was trying so hard to get her formal rival to understand. Bonnie knew that if she wasn't so spaced out from the meds and the pain, that her own temper would have flared fully over just what she had just voiced. Kim, with her 'she could do anything' attitude had always had that 'thick, red-headed/hot-headed, all-too-righteous-and-holier-than-thou' way about her. And while Bonnie had always privately admitted to herself that she knew that she was 'a selfish, egotistical, manipulative, lying, cheating, calculating bitch', it was the fact that she had felt that 'lil Kimmie' had always been blithely blind about her own faults that had inspired half of the grief that Bonnie had given her.

The other half had been pure unadulterated jealousy—

Even now, Bonnie knew that Kim had of course done something in the last day or so that had saved the entire world—

And Kim had caused a shaft of pain to skewer Bonnie's whole psych by mentioning 'the trial' than Bonnie had been trying so hard to suppress—

_But then . . . that's how its always been hasn't it_ Bonnie thought to herself. _Tit for tat, each of us going back and forth with the digs. And if your really going to be honest about it Bon-Bon, you were the one that instigated most of the wars._

Bonnie closed her eyes and tried to will the pain away. But there were many kinds of pain, and memories about her own horrid past were one pain that she would live with for the rest of her life.

_Face it bitch. You started almost all of the catfights between the two of you. Kim, you had the unfortunate role of being the only one I could bait and taunt and harass and screw with. Couldn't do it to my parents, my mom just flat out wouldn't understand any of it, and even if she did, she had too much pain already for me to really want to add any more to it. And my step dad, for putting up with so much other crap, he doesn't deserve it. My real dad . . . while I'll hopefully never see him again, at the same time he can just go to hell. Those two bitches of sisters, God, any attempt to give them a hard time and my favorite dress would show up ripped to shreds or they'd turn the cold water completely off when I was in the shower and leave nasty threatening notes about the 'human lobster' all over the place for the next week._

Bonnie opened her eyes and looked over at Kim's back without trying to focus her eyes. _I'm sorry for that too Kim. But you were the only one who could take what I was dishing out and I had to have some kind of outlet for all my frustrations and anger. As much grief as I gave you, I always knew that you were better than me . . . and I was soo jealous of that. Just like I was jealous of that happy loving family you have and—_

Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut as the tears started again. _And that emotion was nothing compared to what I felt about your relationship with Ron. You two were a total and complete pair and _everyone_ knew it. And I . . . I was blowing and screwing any guy that I felt could help my status or some plan or project I had . . . and lying awake at night after being in the sack with some new one wondering if I'd just picked up a STD or always spending my 'end of the month' petrified that I wouldn't have my period because I couldn't regularly get B.C. being that my mom would die if I ever talked to her about it and I was having to buy it from other girls._

Bonnie opened her eyes again and this time she focused on Kim's back. _I hope you know just how lucky you are Kim. I'm sure that your world isn't 'perfect' although a lot of the other girls probably think it is. But it's something solid and sound and full of life. I didn't say anything . . . yeah, like I really would, when we were stuck together and I saw the warm, cozy world inside your home with loving, caring parents and siblings who might be wild and annoying, but aren't mean, vindictive, manipulating bitches—_

_And I acknowledge that I learned so well from those same mean, vindictive bitches._

Bonnie looked at Kim's back wondering what was going through her head, and understanding at last . . . just what was going through her own head.

_I think that's why I'm trying so hard here Kim. I think . . . that if nothing else happens, that we can at least call a truce . . . and that would give me a chance to see . . . if I . . . can maybe find myself on a path that is at least similar to yours . . . and maybe turn my life around—_

_I need to find that path . . . because without it . . . I need it so that . . . I can maybe live the rest of my life without hating myself . . . and my life . . . for as long as I might live . . . which considering what kind of enemies I probably have made . . .probably won't be all that long anyway._

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Kim . . . really didn't know . . . just what to do. For how long now, had she imagined how this inevitable confrontation with her archrival would go? Yelling, shouting, maybe even Kim would be able to actually/maybe/hopefully grab and shake or push or physically _something_ to her enemy as a reward for all the self-control she had been forced to endure over the years—

But considering how she had almost lost all control with the Jock only to be saved by Whitler . . . Bonnie might not have been so lucky. Kim had learned that uncontrolled, her temper was much more dangerous than she had even admitted to even herself.

Or . . . . . . was it the hate that was, that had been driving her?

Kim Possible found that she was scared to death that such an emotion . . . such an awful _evil_ emotion could have so much power, so much _control_ over her.

She couldn't . . . she wouldn't . . .

Like the darkness, the blackness, it was something that she had to fight—

_But then, you've already allowed yourself to submit to them haven't you Kim. You allowed the darkness to swallow you . . . you headlong threw yourself into the waiting arms of the blackness—_

_And you . . . hate yourself for doing it. But only now . . . in hindsight._

_No Kimberly, you can't allow yourself to go on this way. You have to do something to change the way you're acting, the way your headed if you don't get a firm grip on your rawer emotions. Like what Ron's mom was so worried about, you've been getting wilder and wilder . . . and it isn't, it CAN'T be because of your relationship and love for Ron. it can only be because—_

Kim tried again to wipe the tears from her eyes, very difficult when ones hands were so heavily bandaged and ones face/eyelids so sore that the abrasive contact made her eyes water even harder (or so she was trying to tell herself).

But there was something else that she _wasn't_ trying to tell herself . . . and she was going to have to force herself to do so.

_Because you allowed yourself to go 'wild'. Face it girl, just like your not being able to say 'I love you' to Ron, you expected everything else in your life, in school senior year, in all your activates and hobbies, all your relations with your other friends, to have the same . . . how did mom put it . . . _'first you can understand that love does not mean explosions, rockets, bright lights, unbridled passion and flames of fury 24/7'_. Did you think that the rest of your life should be the same way as well? You believed that how you felt and acted about and with Ron should carry over to everything else. Did you get the 'stuttering overload' by being too intense about all the rest of it as well? Did you 'Alpha Blue Fox Female' yourself right into where you are now, where it's either love or hate—_

_That means, if I'm going to be honest with myself as well—_

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It seemed that another period, timeless and yet going on forever passed with the two battered teens lost seemingly in their own worlds.

Until—

"Bonnie . . . do you hate me?"

The brunette, who had again been staring at her covered feet, snapped her head up so fast that it hurt. But it was only another of so many pains of all kinds coursing through her that it almost went unnoticed. But while the other teens question was _not_ unnoticed, it was so unexpected that it almost didn't register. "W—what do you mean Kim?"

Kim still stood in her robe, her back to Bonnie, bandaged arms wrapped around her torso when they weren't brushing at her eyes or a wayward strand of hair. Up to that moment, there had been no indication that Kim had intended to continue their confrontation; Bonnie had been wondering if she had been simply trying to come up with a particular nasty parting comment—

But apparently, Kim had something else in mind.

"You said we needed to be clear and honest Bonnie. So answer the question. Do you hate me?"

Bonnie stared at Kim's back for another minute. Not that she needed the time to formulate an answer because she didn't; she knew exactly what to say, clearly and honestly. But she had to wonder . . . just were was Kim going to go—

"I've . . . never _hated_ you Kim. Been angry, frustrated, pissed off, full of disbelief and questions when I just couldn't understand _why_ you did some of the things that you did. But—" and Bonnie just broke off, shaking her head—

Kim seemed to pull her head back and stare at the ceiling . . . before asking in a voice so choked, 'then . . . . . .why—?"

Bonnie's head dropped to her chest. She had been more afraid, and yet absolutely certain that at some point this question would be asked—

Did she really know the answer herself . . . . . . she wasn't sure.

But she had to try, because . . . deep inside, she _did_ know.

"I never hated you Kim. That is, I never _hated you_! I had plenty of other feelings thou. And all and all, the most hurtful, awful, nasty, constant and intense feelings that you and your world gave me—"

Bonnie threw her head back with a noise that was a god awful soblike noise followed by— "God! Everything you did, everything that you could do. I mean, starting right with your audition for the squad in middle school, tin teeth and all, right on through to saving the goddamn world! Over and over again! And you made it look _effortless_! And there you were, a 'perfect girl that could do anything'! So where did that leave me? I had Hell's Pure Bitches at home and 'Just A Normal Everyday Girl Who Saved The Whole Fucking World On A Weekly Basis' at school! There was no escape; there was no place where I didn't feel threatened. So I reacted, like the caged animal that I felt like. And what was the feelings that I reacted with? What I had . . . . . . was . . . jealousy."

Bonnie had to stop, sucking in deep breaths to keep from sobbing again—she wasn't really successful. "Then . . . came the kicker, the last kick-my-ass-and-grind-my-face-into-the-toilet-one-two-punch!"

"Ron and I getting together at the prom—" Kim saying it for Bonnie, in a tone that could be . . . disbelief . . . could be . . . wonder . . . could be . . . amazement . . .

"That was 'the one'—" Bonnie struggling to get control of her voice again. "The 'two' was ALL of the other kids accepting it as if I was the only one—"

A very long moment passed before Bonnie was able to say, "yeah, Kim . . . pure green-eyed monster. And it was so bad that it was just like hate . . . and the first and foremost source of that monster . . . was your relationship with Ron." A bitter laugh followed. "Do you know that the only thing that kept me going over the edge prior to the prom was that so-called relationship I had with Brick, while you seemed to just flirt through the boys; you seemed totally clueless when it came to them. Oh, you had your close calls, Mankey had me worried, then that Eric weirdo—"

Bonnie looked right at Kim would could feel the intensity of the brunette's eyes on her back! 'It looked like that was the one area where I was better than you were, getting and holding boys—"

Bonnie just as suddenly, looked away, her whole body changing into what could only be called a depiction of shameful dejection. "But the way I got them, the way I held them—," her eyes closed and her head snapped painfully back and forth as if she was trying to get the pain to force the memories away. But she couldn't escape the truth could she. " . . . yes, I had Brick. My 'steady' boyfriend, the quarterback of the varsity team, and we were doing what seems is the normal 'teen' thing, breaking up/getting back together, trying to make it work—"

Bonnie snorted. "Brick Flagg. Seven years in high school, brains of a slab of meat and about as much feeling. And I always called Ron a loser. But Brick was the wining quarterback. And we . . . were a couple, if that's what you want to call that farce, that, lets-go-out-on-a-waste-of-time-evening-on-a-so-called-date-so-that-we-can-hurry-off-somewhere-and-FUCK! relationship. And you know what really really hurt," Bonnie paused as a sob threatened to, "what I really and truly HATED . . . was at the same time I was screwing all those other boys . . . and Brick couldn't care less as long as he had first call!!!" And then, the dam burst loose. But before Bonnie lost total control of her voice—

"I was the Middleton High Whore, I was the Mad Dogs Bitch Slut! And you were in LOVE, and Ron LOVES you! And you two have for God knows how many years even if you were both clueless about it, and Ron stuck to you, stuck by you, even with the other boys—"

"And I . . . . . . and I . . . . . . had nuthin—"

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Kim listened to the quiet sobs behind her—

And she was appalled by the feeling within her . . . that she wanted to somehow . . . . . . comfort Bonnie—

_Was Monique . . . maybe right? Has Bonnie done so much of what she has done to try and make up for her total lack of love? I . . . can't believe . . . she was so . . . she seemed so confident and in control, so smugly and nastily sure of herself while the reality of her—_

_Could I have been so blind? I know how ditzy her mom seems to be and even that short encounter with her sisters left me . . . disgusted? Disbelieving? Unbelieving that _any_ family could be that cold and shallow—_

Then a thought came to Kim that once she realized it, was like a slap in the face. _Why shouldn't I have been that blind. I was blind to Ron for so long! I was blind to my own Alpha Female/Blue Fox/Shego's Princess Bitch! for so long._

_Maybe . . . I shouldn't be quite as righteous as I'm acting because it takes two to fight. But . . . . . . still—?_

"Bonnie . . . did you enjoy what was happening to me? To Ron and our families?"

There was another gawdawful sound behind her before, "Kim, you bitch! Of course I enjoyed it . . . as by that point, I was fucking drunk-off-my-ass most of the time. I got so good at it that my mom could never tell, not that she would pay attention anyway. Great stuff Vodka; can't be smelled on the breath and my source would give me a bottle for a blowjob. Not even Barkin—"

"Clear and honest Bonnie—" the snap was back in Kim's voice.

"I . . . . . . . " Bonnie touched her forehead which was starting to throb. "I . . . . . . "

"Tell me," Kim urged, her voice no longer sharp.

Bonnie seemed to collapse down into the bed, all the energy draining out of her. Kim slowly turned, crossing her arms in front of her chest, until she should look at Bonnie with a firm stare.

"Yeah," came the brunette's reply, barely audible. "Yeah I did. But you know—" and Bonnie came up to look into Kim's eyes with both wonder and disbelief in hers, as if a realization had just struck. "It's . . . weird. I could tell that you were hurting. And . . . that felt good. It . . . . . . felt good that someone was hurting just as bad as I was." Bonnie's gaze dropped away once again, "At times . . . it felt real good. At others . . . I knew deep, deep inside that eventually it would all end, and that there would be hell to pay when that happened." The hand went back up to the throbbing forehead. "I became more and more scared . . . then . . . you went off on me in the locker room when I pulled the squad picks on you . . . . . . and then Ron—"

Bonnie's head snapped back up, her eyes wide and pleading, "I was scared to death Kim! But you have to know that I did not ask or want Ron shot! I only wanted him scared. And it wasn't my idea to go to the gang members, it was Carla's and—"

Then both Bonnie's eyes and mouth shut with a snap, she stayed in that position, as tense as steel for so long that Kim thought that maybe she was having some kind of seizure. In fact Kim just started to move forward, her mouth coming open to cry out an alarm when Bonnie said through clenched teeth—

"It doesn't matter thou does it? Regardless of what actually happened, the fact that I was the one who set it up makes it my responsibility. Ron's injury was my fault. His death would have been my fault, and I know . . . that even if that strange, lovable misfit of yours somehow forgives me someday . . . I know you never will . . . and you shouldn't—"

Bonnie's head dropped in shame, and she spoke to her lap when she said quietly, "I guess I've figured out that somehow, God or fate doesn't want me dead just yet. I don't know if I'm meant to spend whatever is left of my life in abject misery or what. I don't have a clue as too . . . . . . not that it matters anyway." Bonnie then turned her head away from Kim, just before, "I know that I have no right to ask _anything_ of you Kim, but . . . I promise that I will accept any consequence for my actions without a fight. I promise to . . . if I'm not put in jail . . . never to bother you and Ron again. I only ask . . . that you allow me to do so without . . . . . . I guess the best way to say it, would be that you didn't use your favors, friends and influence to make it harder than it's already going to be."

Even Kim's bad eye flared almost as wide as her good one. Of all the sheer—

Kim then closed both eyes as she—

_Whoa Possible. This __**IS**__ all the drama! But at the same time . . . don't let those wild emotions get hold now! Bonnie is beaten . . . really and truly beaten . . . and . . . I guess that I really believe that now! And do you continue to attack a beaten foe?_

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Bonnie waited, cringing inside for she had heard/felt the sharp intake in breath, the sudden snap of movement in Kim's body when she had made her request. _And deep inside, you know that you don't deserve anything from her. In fact, you know that before . . . before you tried to change paths, you would have been capable of just as convincing a sob story . . . that would be all lies and academy award acting . . . but this time . . . I think that I really mean what I'm saying . . . and I don't think I've had a thought like that since Tara and I were together at the beginning of Middle School._

_But I also think that I'm still too far down the old path, and Kim will think the same thing. And I wont blame her one bit—_

_I just don't have a clue as to what I'm going to do if she says . . . for me to go to hell—_

Kim was glad that Bonnie was still looking away, for not only were her eyes squeezed so tight that her whole head was hurting, Kim thought that she was biting her own abused lower lip so hard that blood was being drawn—

Was it all boiling down too—

_You . . . hated Shego, but you discovered that the Shego you hate just might not be the real, true Shego. You realized that Shego has a soft human side . . . because you discovered that Shego . . . was jealous . . . of your life and family._

_And . . . is the reality . . . whither you want to believe it or not, that Bonnie is and as, to a certain extent just like—_

Now Kim's own hands came up to her battered head as she tried to sort out all too many thoughts and emotions.

_Clear and honest Kimberly. You hate what Bonnie did to you and your family. You hate what she did to your life at school. You HATE what she did and almost did to Ron—_

_But . . . . . ._

_Look at the price she paid . . . is still paying . . . will be paying for only God knows how long . . . for her own hate?_

_And . . . with everything that you know and have seen . . . along with what you yourself have experienced in your own life, your self and your relationship and love with and for Ron—_

_Can you at least . . . . . . understand why Bonnie—_

_And just like with Shego, for my own sake, do I really want to hate—_

Kim's hands dropped down to her sides, and a long slow breath came out of her as she made her decision.

_I . . . . . . . . . . . . don't . . . hate Bonnie! I HATE what she did . . . . . . but I don't ever want to HATE anyone! Like with Shego, knowledge and understanding is one—_

_And unlike the Bonnie of before, she admits and accepts what she has done, just like you've had to admit and accept so much of both what you've done and where you have been lacking in your own self and purpose._

_And . . . . . . I can't hate someone like that—_

_So now what?_

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"I—" and Bonnie winced again at the cold hard tone from the redhead next to her hospital bed—

"I will never _ever_ forgive you for what you have done Bonnie. If Ron had died . . . I really don't know what I would have done . . . and that thought scares me very badly."

Bonnie then heard a very slow, deep breath being drawn . . . followed by silence. After a few moments, she found . . . that she had to turn her head for a sidelong glance at the girl standing there.

And she realized . . . that Kim was slowly rotation her head, neck, shoulders and whatever in one of the tension reliving exercised they did in the squad. Then Kim's eyes opened, and saw that Bonnie's were watching her. The red haired teen stopped what she was doing and gave her a look that almost caused her to die right there in the bed.

"After so long, I'm only still coming to realize just how much Ron is a part of me in ways that I never realized. I don't know if you heard, but I thought that Ron was killed when we were fighting that monster machine . . . a machine that I destroyed . . . deliberately killing myself in the process—"

Bonnie's heart and lungs stopped as for the first time it seemed, she actually looked at Kim, seeing the extent and nature of the redheads injuries. "No—" she breathed—

Kim nodded grimly. "Yes," she replied. "Monique did CPR on me (Kim putting a hand on her still aching chest) and brought me back. Only after the fact did we find out that someone who is still unknown did what Ron tried to do, after knocking him out and taking his place." Sudden tears had sprung into Kim's eyes and Bonnie could literally _feel_ Kim's anguish and relief at this bizarre turn of events. But why was Kim explaining this?

"So we've both 'died' in the last couple of days Bonnie—" Bonnie's heart and lungs seemed to want to leap out of her chest. "And not too long ago . . . because of what was happening to me . . . things which you were a very big part of although I am now willing to admit that you weren't the only one . . . I too hated myself because I had given up on myself and my world . . . and I . . . I hated Ron . . . because he wouldn't let me give up on myself and my world—"

Bonnie stared just for a moment at those emerald eyes, once again blazing with fire, heard that hard, bowstring taunt voice, realized just what those words meant, before rolling on her side as well as the IV tubes and monitor leads would allow, and tried to curl up into a fetal ball—

And shut the world out—

Wanting . . . praying for death to take her—knowing that it was not going to happen—

"As far as I'm concerned," Kim's voice continued as Bonnie was unable to cover her head/ears, "you participated in what amounted to, the complete destruction of my life. if not for Ron and my parents and Monique and Felix—"

And before she realized just exactly what she was doing, Bonnie was back over, almost fully up, SHOUTING into Kim's face— "I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH WHAT HAPPENED TO FELIX! I CARE ABOUT HIM! IF I KNEW THAT CARLA WAS ACTUALLY GOING TO DO WHAT SHE DID TO HIM I WOULD HAVE—"

And Bonnie cut off as groans and wails emitted from the beds behind the drawn curtains, and moments later the room door opened and the sounds of shoes came to them. An angry face of a nurse stuck in momentarily through the curtain, but being that both girls were in silent poises with arms crossed, the face really couldn't accuse them of being the source of discomfort to the others.

It took far too long it seemed for the staff to get things settled again. That angry nurses face thrust through the curtain once more, saying only, "five minutes" before the shoes retreated back out of the door. That left the two teen girls staring at each other once more. Kim shifted uncomfortably and started to open her mouth, "Felix—"

Bonnie cut her off with a sharp wave of her hand. "Will never be more that a friend . . . if he survives. I know that and I realize that and I acknowledge that. And despite the fact that it's worth nothing, you have my word that I wont try to undermine him and Monique. But . . . clear and honest . . . if he and she should mutually break up—" Bonnie's eyes were hard and challenging as she spoke the last sentence, daring Kim to say against what she had just proclaimed.

Kim stared back for a long moment . . . then—

"Clear and honest Bonnie," and Kim's tone was tight, level and firm, "the fact is that . . . I'm not sure just how to deal with you. Part of me would love to see you locked away until _you're_ too old to have sex period! You're absolutely right please and thank you, that there is no way that you can ever make up, repay, compensate or otherwise atone for what you did to me." Kim stopped, closing her eyes and actually sounding like she was forcing herself to say, "I will . . . acknowledge . . . that you didn't intend to have Ron shot . . . and you better thank God for what we call 'The Ron Factor' for him coming out of that as well as he did."

"And—" Kim's voice became even more strained as she seemed to almost be gritting her teeth, "I also have to admit . . . that some of what happened to me, did open my eyes to some of the very faults that you couldn't understand. There are things in me that I do need to change or where I need to grow up—"

Kim stopped and seemed to once again tried to force herself to relax—

"All I ask," Bonnie said in as completely humble a tone that no one could ever think she was capable of, "is to be allowed to take all the consequences, sanctions, punishment, anger, hated and scorn that I know is already waiting for me without you throwing fuel on the fire."

Kim's eyes were still closed and her teeth completely locked together when she said through them, "and just why should I do that?"

"Because," came the soft reply, "you have every right, every reason . . . you absolutely _should_ hate me . . . and I don't deserve anything . . . but I want . . . I truly want . . . more than I can believe within myself . . . another chance."

A long, ragged sigh came from Kim, followed by long, slow deliberate breaths—

"I . . . . . . . . . don't . . . . . . hate you Bonnie . . . I am very, very angry, angry to the point where I almost scare myself . . . and that _does_ scare me because one of the things I've learned recently was just how terrible my temper can get." Kim's eyes opened, and the emerald blaze with still there, but it was banked, seemingly being brought under control, as was Kim's voice, even through it happened slowly.

"The only reason is this. My life was destroyed . . . more than once. You destroyed it, Carla destroyed it, Shego destroyed it . . . and then . . . I destroyed it! I shut out everyone who wanted, who tired to help me, even my 'rents and Ron. It took someone entirely outside of my normal world who forced the help onto me to get me to open my eyes."

Tears were now leaking from those emerald eyes and Kim's voice had grown husky. "I stopped falling . . . and Ron was there, waiting for me, ready to take my hand and help me back. And I was able to come back; all the way back—and then Ron was 'killed' . . . . . . and not only my life ended, but my whole world. And I . . . gave myself to the darkness . . . which is even worse because Ron was in fact alive, and . . . and—" unable to go on, Kim dropped her face into her bandaged hands.

_My GOD!_ Bonnie thought to herself as the enormity of what Kim had just said struck her. _I tired to kill myself but Kim . . . you succeeded! And if not for Monique! And Ron would have been alive and—_ Bonnie, already emotionally destroyed, could take no more, so she started to weep as well, weep for what had almost happened to her worst rival and her boyfriend—

Kim lifted her face up and looked at her weeping enemy. _Is the reality that . . . like Shego and I, you and I Bonnie are . . . in many ways . . . alike? But where Shego has no, how did I put it, __dedication to duty, honor and responsibility and moral compass, Bonnie . . . what would I be like you if I was raised in a family . . . with a father . . . and sisters like yours . . . without my mom to teach me my dedication to duty, my honor and help me establish my moral compass—_

Kim, as tears flowed from her own eyes, gazed at Bonnie, and came to the realization, _you're as much of a victim of yourself as I am Bonnie. You destroyed me, but Whitler, Tara and the girls, my mom, and most of all, Ron, brought me back. You . . . you destroyed yourself . . . and have been since the day we met. But unlike me . . . you don't have anyone . . . except for Tara and Felix and Felix is—_

_You might not like it Possible . . . in fact . . . you may HATE it . . . but there really is only one thing that you can do in this sitch—_

"I saw the cellphone vid Bonnie. That was a pretty good job of kickin Carla's butt—"

Bonnie's hand came back up to that throbbing forehead and a single loud sob came out before, "you have no idea just how _scared_ I was. You're the fighter Kim, I'm—" and then Bonnie stopped, her eyes going wide. It seemed to take forever to . . . it looked like Bonnie was _scared_ to look at Kim with total disbelief about what her ears had just heard—

"I won't hassle you," Kim said quietly. "What happened will never be forgotten or forgiven. I don't know if I'll ever be able to move beyond it—"

Bonnie had been at last able to look up and over at Kim, her eyes and mouth wide open—

"But I'll give you your chance . . . and maybe more if it turns out that you're sincere about all of this." Kim managed a very, _very_ slight smile. "The squad needs another as strong as you to anchor a couple of the routines that Tara came up with at cheer camp."

Bonne stared at her with huge, disbelieving eyes, then begin to whimper . . . then blubber . . . . . . then out and out sob—

"Clear and honest Bonnie—" Kim said sharply, catching the brunette up short. "Take a wrong turn or screw up and it's no mercy." Bonnie nodded sharply as she fought to get herself under control. "I—I prom—" she tried to get out.

"The promise I want," Kim said with full authority in her voice, "is that you're going to get help, real help for your mental problems, for your alcoholism, for your family situation, and that you _stick with it_ to the very end even when you've given up or others have given up on you—"

Bonnie was so choked; she could only nod her head at this. She sat in the bed and tried to pull herself together—

Bonnie was still afraid to look at Kim. Kim started to feel uncomfortable about standing there.

"I think the five minutes are up," Kim said hastily. "I hope that things aren't—" and she found that she could think of nothing else to say. Kim turned and started to walk through the curtain—"

"Thank you—" came the choked, reedy voice from behind her.

Kim stopped, and after a moment, looked back over her shoulder. Bonnie was looking at her . . . Kim never thought she would ever see such gratefulness in any set of eyes again—

She knew that she had made the right decision.

Kim gave Bonnie a little smile (and maybe, sortta meaning it), which brought more tears to the brunette's eyes. Kim then turned back to head through the curtain—

They heard the room door open and Kim came up short as she saw Ron and . . . Josh Mankey coming in—

And the look on Ron's face set off all of Kim's alarm bells.

Kim stepped back, allowing the curtain to be open enough for Bonnie to see the two boys. Bonnie looked up, too torn up to fathom just what was going on.

It was then that Kim realized just how pale Josh was, how drawn and frightened his face was. Her former boyfriend looked at Bonnie in the bed before him, his voice locked tight with worry—"Bonnie, sorry to bother you but . . . Tara is missing. No one has seen her since she went to bed the night before the disaster. I was hoping that she might have stopped by to see you or sent a note—"

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A/N: This one came quickly as what needed to be said was very straightforward. It was the method that I was unsure with, taking a couple of drafts. Also starting doing some things to reflect on the changes that occurred in Season 4. Will at some point backfill to prior chapters where I can. This will remain an AU story obviously if for no other reasons than if they survive, Bonnie will not end up with Junior and Felix will not end up with Zita

Once again, thank you to everyone who reads.

Support the Fannie Awards on Zaratans's Forum. I know this story had been nominated for Best Drama and whoever did that, it is much appreciated. I don't 'campaign' for my work and with so many other authors out there with more time, experience and ability than me; I don't expect to win (besides the thought of having to write an 'acceptance' speech scares me to death). But it is a fun time.

Down to the final few, am working on next set already. The identity of the Couple in Black, another Kim/Shego confrontation, a couple of other little loose ends and its done. It's going to be very strange to be done—

I Remain As Always

Your Humble and Devoted Servant

The Wise Duck


	47. Minor Events

Kim's eyes came open, automatically giving their usual glance at the clock on the nightstand next to her bed. It told her that it was a couple of minutes before her alarm would sound to get her up for school. With a sigh to acknowledge that there was not enough time for even a quick dose, she pulled herself up and started her day.

The truth be known, she was having to get up earlier than she normally would and she sighed again as she, a few minutes later, dressed in her robe descended the steps from her loft and into her bathroom for the morning routine of wrapping her hands and taping the side of her torso in plastic to protect the bandages from the shower.

She was grateful that only her hands/fingers were still physically wrapped and that the ravaged area on her side was only a quarter of what it had been. It was even better that it was only her side that was now being taped; the bindings that had gone all the way around her body no longer needed. But preparing all the sites for her shower was still a laborious project that she was oh-so-tired-of (and one that due to the continued disability of her fingers she had only recently mastered without the assistance of her mom). Other adjustments had had to be made, one of them being that she was doing her hair every second or third day depending on how bad it got. With her hands wrapped in plastic, washing her mane completely tanked!

After stripping her robe, Kim did the usual quick check in the full-length mirror. Only the real deep wounds or major burns still had bandages, most if not all of the minor ones having been reduced to marks and scars. The worst of those was the one on her cheek which she was keeping covered if only because of the scar. Her mother was already making arrangements for a plastic surgeon to look at it for a repair attempt.

And once again Kim felt the tug inside of her continuing internal battle. Ron had offered . . . without actually saying anything to . . . do whatever it was . . . that he did . . . to speed up the repair and healing of her face and hands. For reasons that Kim couldn't voice, not even to herself, she had adamantly refused his offer. It wasn't that she liked the pain and the awkwardness and the discomfort and it wasn't that she didn't want to accept Ron's help when it was offered with such love, care and concern. It was just that . . . it . . . the whole concept of it . . . especially after Bonnie . . . and after what had almost happened to Ron because of doing the whatever to Bonnie . . . it just . . . bothered her—

Forcing it once again from her mind, Kim again returned to looking at her own reflection. She was glad to see this morning that more of the bruising was fading with only her most abused parts retaining their awful color. The pain in her chest/side from both her bruised ribs and Monique's ministrations was almost gone and her hands only actually hurt (vs the ache that was still a low constant) when she tried to force her fingers to move more than they wanted or when they changed the bandages. The therapy was excruciating but the prognosis was good and she was very thankful that due to the protection of her gloves, the doctors had proclaimed that skin grafts would not been necessary for her fingers/palms.

Afterward, Kim dressed in her room, sticking to pull on/over items so that she didn't have to try to do buttons. Of course her regular bras could be a problem so she had been wearing strictly her sports ones until she regained full use of her fingers. As the early November weather was turning decidedly cool, sweats had been the norm for her.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Kim found the returned Tweebs both plotting new mischief and playing with their food. As her dad was trying to run breakfast they had ample opportunity to do both. "Now boys," he admonished as Kim came through the door, "you are not to take your pancakes from the table in order to dip them into liquid oxygen solely for the purpose of seeing what their aerodynamic properties would be."

"Aaawwwwww—" was the reply in stereo.

"Morning Kimmy-cub," came her dads greeting as she came in.

"Morning dad."

"Just a second and I'll have something for you here."

The problem was that her dad had pitched in to help in the home due to his wife's immobility. As would be the case, her dad was . . . doing things . . . a little differently than Kim's mom would. Right now was a prime example. He was tinkering with some kind of outlandish contraption where the toaster oven had been previously and while some of his food inventions like the Christmas time eggnog maker worked . . . Kim could remember far to many holidays when she was younger when that same device 'hadn't been perfected yet' with interesting results, both in taste . . . and in artistic displays on the ceilings and walls.

"I'll pass dad. Ron should be by to pick me up early anyway. We'll grab something at BN on the way over."

"Make sure," came her mothers voice from behind her, "that you do. You missed dinner last night." Her mom came into the kitchen of her crutches, her cast reduced to just her lower leg at this stage.

"I know," Kim admitted, suddenly sounding sad.

It had been three and a half weeks since 'Drakken's Disaster' had overtaken Middleton. Between Kim, Ron and both of their sets of parents, they had, as an extended family, been to almost a dozen funerals in that same period—

The worst for Kim of course . . . had been Justine's.

Only because it seemed that the brave girls entire family was still in shocked denial . . . was the only reason Kim could fathom that they had treated her with any kind of courtesy. Kim knew that they had been visited by Professor Allenford, Doctor Director and several government 'somebody's' in order to explain what had happened and that Justine had been the 'only' one who could have been turned to to understand and recognize the threat in the time that had been available—

It didn't undo the responsibility of the person who had 'called' her.

There was still a fear deep inside Kim . . . that at some point, Justine's family would realize that she was responsible for the death of their daughter . . . and demand some kind of an accounting.

It was giving her bad dreams—

As was—

The event of the evening before that her mom referred too—

A candlelight vigil had been held for . . . Tara. The only clue to the missing Cheer Captain had been a note (definitely in Tara's neat handwriting), stating that she loved her parents and family and that she had had something important to do. Speculation was that she had heard the explosions, had maybe turned on the radio or TV and had gone to help at the disaster site, something that was so typically Tara.

What hadn't been typical was that Tara had left the _note_, that she hadn't _told_ her parents or other family members. They had last seen her earlier the previous evening, unnaturally quiet, deeply depressed, politely refusing dinner and unreceptive to the comforting attempts by her family to help her with her black mood. Tara _had_ told her parents of the events in the van garage at school that day, of what had happened to Bonnie, of what she herself had done . . . (but it had been realized only later that Tara had not related to her parents what price she herself had almost paid when it looked as if Carla might shoot her when she attempted to protect Bonnie). And finally, Tara had related Ron's inexplicable collapse, which seemed to upset the blond girl more than any other part of the event. In the end, it was believed that Tara had left the note rather than tell her parents for fear of being barred by them from going to the scene of the disaster.

From there, she had vanished from the face of the earth.

Almost all of the rubble had been removed from the area of the disaster site and all bodies found had been identified to the best ability. None of them, even the ones that were unidentifiable, even came close to resembling Tara.

So . . . she had been listed simply as 'missing'. She wasn't the only one so listed, but she was the only one that Kim and Ron had known personally.

The vigil had been . . . touchingly different. For one thing, it had been held at the small private airfield on the west side of town. Kim hadn't known that the athletic blond had had her glider pilot's license since she was fourteen and had been in training for her power license. Members of her glider club had under tow, made the 'missing man' formation over the vigil in the dusk, heading off to the west 'taking Tara's spirit toward the twilighted mountains she loved'.

Afterward she and Ron had rode home in the back of Marcella's parents van, holding each other tightly against the chill, holding each other tighter because of their tears.

MrsDrP gave her daughter a reassuring smile. "I know, and I know that you'll take care of yourself. But see if you can get Ron to ingest something other than cheese for breakfast. Tell him his doctor said so."

With that, there was a knock on the door—

"I'll try mom," Kim replied with a thankful smile. "Maybe I can get Rufus to eat it all first and force a salad into Ron—"

"Hey Kim," called Jim. "Betcha we can make a formula that—"

"Causes Ron to heave," laughed Tim—

"Every time he has cheese—" finished Jim.

"Tweebs!!!!!!!!!!!!" started Kim

MrsDrP waved Kim on toward the door as her glare told her two boys just exactly what she thought of their plan.

"Bon-diggity morning—" came Ron's greeting as Kim came out of the door, backpack slung over one shoulder. "I diggity you," was Kim's loving reply, one still-bandaged hand reaching out to touch his face as his hands lifted up her helmet and helped her get it placed. A quick smooch and a bundling of their coats (with Ron helping her get her backpack on) was done prior to mounting Ron's trusty steed for their trip to Tex-Mex heaven. Kim's Sloth with Ron driving would have been warmer, but this gave her too good an opportunity to hug him oh so close as they rode off. As they did so, it was Kim's voice that was heard to say, her chin resting on his shoulder—

"Have you ever tried a salad with shredded cheese on top of it—?"

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It was after class that Kim went to her locker to shuffle books. When she opened it, she once again smiled to see her computer terminal back again in its familiar place. It had amazed her how much just that simple fact was a stabling influence on her.

And she needed as many stabilizing influences as she could get.

Local, state and federal hearings and investigations with accusations and denials flying about between the various levels of government continued to swirl around like water going down a drain. She and Ron had been called twice to testify so far with the promise of many more to come, but the worst was the absolute barrage of offers (demands really) from the talk shows, radio interview shows, news forums (and on and on) which she and everyone else _really_ involved (that being the expanded Team Possible) had flatly refused to submit too.

The Team had participated in a closed door debrief involving Global Justice and 'Redoubt's' successor, a small, fierce-faced man with a heavy Boston accent who went by the identification of 'Foundation'. It had been made quite clear that this event would probably be the only briefing/interview/post-mortem review without any political strings or aspirations attached so the attempt was made to make it as comprehensive, focused and candid as possible.

Meanwhile, their lives tried to move on.

Shego had 'moved out', the raven-haired villainess allowing herself to be taken into 'protective custody' by Global Justice as a result of a personal visit from Doctor Director, who had offered amnesty and a free release if Shego allowed herself to be debriefed as to Drakken's decent onto madness. It was only when it was explained that her information/insight might be vital to help with the treatment and therapy for Drakken, who was still being held in an undisclosed location in improving condition, that Shego agreed.

Kim's Nana had also left but Kim wasn't sure just where she had gone. All indications had been that she had been returning to Florida as it continued to get cooler in Middleton. But a snatch of a phone call that Kim had heard in passing the night prior to her Nana's leaving made it sound as if she was reserving a hotel room in a city somewhere. When Kim had asked about it later, her Nana had just given her 'a knowing smile' which Kim interpreted properly, allowing the subject to quietly drop.

Kim was on sick leave from work, a situation which had the manager, who normally made any allowance she could in order to have such a famous employee, pulling her hair out. After all the time off that Kim had taken during 'her troubles' the manager was desperate for adequately trained assistance.

It also didn't help that despite hints, suggestions, advisements, instructions, directives, orders and demands that Monique had declined to return to work at Club Banana. Her 'reasoning' had something to do with the unanswered questions regarding the investigation into the alleged embezzlement. But the fact of the matter was that Monique was spending as much time as possible at Felix's bedside.

On other fronts, Kim had been forced (very very reluctantly and only after a ridiculous amount of desperate pleading) to take back over as Cheer Captain of the Mad Dogs. With the state competition barreling down on them, desperation had set in and a huge fear that all the hard work from Cheer Camp would go to waste. So Kim returned, in no shape to actually work out but she could direct and inspire and cheer, plan and organize—

As for the last two, she was taking extra special care to delegate and to listen. Hope had stepped up as her primary extra set of hands and feet (with an embarrassed explanation that she was having further trouble at home, was tired of being grounded and was hoping that her assisting Kim would both show her parents her ability to handle responsibility as well as giving her an excuse to get out of the house altogether). So far their teamwork was giving everybody new 'hope'—

But they were now two bodies short for all their normal routines—

On another front, there seemed to be an unspoken rule going on at Middleton High not to reference, allude or talk about Kim, Bonnie, Carla, the strange events and outcome of the last several months. But while there wasn't talk, there seemed to be a strong, steady unstated foundation of support for Kim, Ron, Monique (when she was there) as well as many of the others who had been involved, including the now painfully cast adrift members of Bonnie/Carla's former posse.

Also, a united front was being displayed against 'the encroachers' the Lowerton gang members. There had been several ugly incidents which had resulted in increased campus security. But overnight it seemed, the suspected individuals seemed to take a sudden, mysterious turn about, returning to their home turf. The remaining members, those who were involuntarily 'bussed' in in the first place requested a transfer to another school, a request that Barkin and the district responded to with amazing speed.

Kim gingerly worked at changing her books, pressing them between her palms, transferring them back and forth from her backpack which was on the floor in front of her and the storage area under the computer. She was mentally calculating (again) how she would have to address all the lost time/studies she had suffered. As it was, being that she couldn't take notes nor write out work, Wade had provided her with a laptop that both 'recorded' what her teachers where saying and allowed her to 'dictate' her work so it could be printed out.

As she stood up for the last time, Ron materialized out of the crowd of kids moving down the halls. His eyes looked crossed and Kim surpassed a smile.

"Man," and it was a very heartfelt exclamation on the part of her boyfriend, "I can't believe the homework that Mr. Letterman just laid on us!"

"Well, you're the one who thought that a class on 'TV' would be an easy elective."

"I know," Ron whined as Kim closed her locker. Ron picked up her backpack and they turned together to walk down the hall toward the parking lot. "And here I had visions of homework consisting of nothing but sitting in front of the tube all evening with a bowl of popcorn—"

"Popcorn?" came the little cry from the pockets of Ron's pants—

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Unlike the halls of school, Kim and Ron's arms were firmly locked around each other's waist as they walked into the lobby of the medical center. Those arms pulled a little tighter as they were suddenly/silently the center of attention. It was something that they were getting use to—

But it would never be something that they were comfortable with.

So they just kept their eyes focused on the entrance to the hallway leading back toward the elevators—

Then a woman stood up into their path—

The couple stopped, afraid that it would either be someone who would praise them till they were overwhelmed . . . or curse them until security had to be called—

As it was, both Kim and Ron where forced to stare dumbly at the woman for more than a moment until brains made a connection—

"Oh . . . " Ron managed to get out as he felt his girl stiffen beside him. "Ah . . . um . . . hello Mrs. Rockwaller—."

Bonnie's mom stood in front of them, looking exhausted, wan, pale, stressed past breaking—

Kim, despite an immediate spike of dislike, got a hold of her emotions. She wouldn't/couldn't hold this poor woman in front of her blameless for what had happened, for she was her former enemies parent, one with responsibility both direct and indirect for much of what had caused and/or allowed Bonnie to become what she had become—

But Kim also knew that none of it had been malicious or on purpose and therefore—

"Hello," Mrs. Rockwaller said back, wary but sad as if she was expecting the two teens to be rude to her.

Kim knew that she had to show that she did not intend to hurt the woman so she managed a small kind smile, "my parents and I got your letter ma'am. And we want you to know that we don't—"

"It's okay Kimberly," Mrs. Rockwaller sighed with a hand coming up to stop the teen although some 'relief' was evident on the woman's face. "I don't deserve any response." She then stopped as if she was hesitant to continue. After a moment she did, but her eyes didn't rise to look at the teens. "The reason why I was here in the lobby . . . why I was waiting for you to arrive was . . . that . . . Bonnie would very much like to tell something to Ronald and to the both of you."

The two teens blinked, turned their heads to look at each other, blinking again, then back at the woman in front of them.

"My daughter specifically . . . asked . . . that if she could talk to you Ronald . . . alone for a period, before she talked to the two of you together, she would very much appreciate it."

Kim instantly felt her hackles start to rise—

And then she felt Ron's fingers pinch her waist—

And she forced herself to take a very long _slow_ deep breath—

She squeezed her boyfriend's side and said in a quiet, _carefully_ controlled voice. "Beep me when you want me to join you." Ron squeezed back, then Kim slipped out of his hold with a curt nod to Mrs. Rockwaller.

In the elevator going up, Kim leaned back into the corner with her arms crossed tightly around herself, oblivious to the sidelong glances of the others. She was once again lost in thought.

At _everybody's_ insistence, she and Ron were undergoing heavy duty counseling, both separately and together. She was dealing with her grief, sense of responsibility, anger and her hate, Ron with his guilt/grief over the still unknown pilot of the hovership as well as his fear and perceived responsibility over causing Kim to want to kill herself. As a part of such, they were having thoughts occur and/or saying things . . . that they hadn't said before, either to themselves (and to the counselor) or to each other . . .

And Kim could tell, that Ron was under a _lot_ of stress hiding both the 'elder' thing and . . . whatever the other thing was that was starting to make him . . . 'special'.

Now . . . Bonnie wanted to talk to him . . . alone . . . and Kim could think of no other reason than somehow, whatever the 'special' thing was, it seemed to have . . . somehow connected the two of them—

And Kim was so _not_ happy about that at all—

It wasn't that she was afraid about Bonnie taking Ron away from her. Her faith and trust in their love/relationship was rock solid. She knew that part of the problem was flat out that she didn't want to 'share' Ron with anybody let alone Bonnie.

The rest of it? She was afraid that Ron was able to 'talk' to Bonnie about what had happened—

Just as he . . . could not talk to her about it.

And that . . . . . . hurt!

Kim shook off the thoughts as the elevator door opened.

She trusted Ron! Trusted that there was a good reason why he was having to hide these strange events/powers from her (above and beyond her skepticism about them anyway). Trusted him that he would open up to her just as soon as he was able too (but the question was, who was forcing him to keep quiet about it? Was it the same 'respected elder' or someone else entirely and if so . . . who?). Trusted him because she could tell, underneath, that he wanted to tell her, that he wished he could tell her, but outside of honor, he was also afraid of what she might think if she knew just exactly what it was that was happening with him.

So Kim once again thrust it out of her mind as she walked out of the elevator, trusting to herself that eventually she would know—

And fervently hoping that Bonnie would no longer be in the know—

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In a non-descript office building in Denver, in a small, comfortably furnished room with almost no light, four figures sat. Two, a male and female, sat on a couch together (with a respectful/professional distance between them however) facing the two single chairs arrayed before them. In those, a male sat in one, a female in the other. The air was heavy with tension . . . a tension broken when the single male sighed and said, "very well. I concede your points . . . and I will direct that your . . . opinions and . . . other items will be addressed."

He paused for a moment and the single female's form moved as if to emphasize—

The single male broke in before she did, "and I will see to it that there are no alterations, additions or deletions from what you request. You have my word on it."

The single female was completely still for a moment, then acknowledged the statement with a firm nod of her head. Then, gathering the set of crutches that were placed next to her chair, she pushed herself to her feet. No further word was spoken as the woman, with natural assurance despite the lack of light and her own temporary handicap, navigated to the where the door was, knocked on it, drew back as it opened, the light in the hallway being only marginally brighter than in the room, enough to see from the rear the woman's contemporary business attire and shoulder length, maybe reddish colored hair as she went through and the door closed behind her—

The heavy silence grew again with the three remaining occupants until the remaining female made a sharp motion with an arm and something hit one of the walls somewhere—

It was accompanied with a growl that sounded like, "shit".

But it was enough for the male sitting next to her to speak up. "Just what gives her the right to dictate things like that? Who in the hell does she think—?"

"She," the remaining single man said with a soft but iron-backed tone, "is owed an incredible number of 'words of thanks', has performed too many miracles, has saved too many worthless shit-for-brains operatives in their younger years when they stepped on it big time and blew their asses off—" and the single man intentionally let that one hang, for the man on the couch was himself was a long ago recipient of just that kind of miracle that the woman who had just left performed with amazing regularity, "and at the same time," the lone male continued, "she has 'extended' the lifespan of far too many 'elder statesmen' and 'senior officials in authority'. In a nutshell, she possesses more favors in the administration and 'The Community' than a Bronx bookie has clients."

"And you forget grandma," the woman snorted derisively from the couch. "Been retired thirty years and still has the entire mid to upper level of management, command and control wrapped up in her fist."

Now the male who was the woman's partner snorted from next to her. "I hear the old lady has been 'downtown' all week, personally telling whoever replaced 'T-Rex' how it should be done."

Now it was the single man's turn to snort. "It was only through her initial intervention almost five years ago that 'Fearless Red' and 'Scared Sidekick' were ever allowed to get started . . . over T-Rex's loud screams. Went right over his head and had his mind changed forcibly when 'Ramrod', at the old ladies insistence, made his displeasure known . . . in writing."

"That's just not done," the woman observed with some heat.

"Which is why it was done," the lone man corrected. "Just so everyone was sure to get the point."

There was a long period of silence. Then the man on the couch, whom in light, would be boyishly handsome and charismatic to all who saw him said tiredly, "so we do it just exactly as she wants" and he flicked a hand in the darkness towards the hidden door indicating just who 'she' was.

"Like it was a script," the lone man confirmed. "I don't like it either. I'm nowhere near the proponent of 'amateur operations' as 'Redoubt' was, but unfortunately, the old lady made sure that 'T-Rex's' replacement was." The lone man's voice lowered to a grumbled, "seems that 'Fearless Red' saved a plane that his daughter and grandchildren where on with a hair dryer, a wheel of cheese, a copy of 'Human' magazine and the help of some giant mutant cockroaches."

The female on the couch, who in the light of day would be described as 'exotically beautiful' grated, "should find some way to feed the whole extended family to the roaches."

The reply from the single male had a grim tone to it. "At some point, the 'powers that be' within 'The Community' will have a chance to make known their . . . 'displeasure' . . . for Team Possible's refusal to allow a . . . proper 'tuning up' of the events in Middleton to the benefit of 'The Community' and the administration."

"At that point," and the angry anticipation in the mans eyes could almost be seen glowing in the darkness, "whenever and however it may be . . . I'm sure we all will be feeling much better because of it."

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Kim was . . . a little startled and more than a little apprehensive as soon as she entered Felix's room and saw Monique—

Who instead of being in her usual spot, in a chair right next to her boyfriends bed, one hand resting on some part of him—

She was standing straight up, one hand pressed tightly to her chest, staring at the still, unmoving form in the bed before her with huge eyes—

Monique looked like Kim had felt when she thought she was seeing Ron's ghost.

"Mo—?" Kim breathed at her friend.

There was no reaction, not even the flicker of an eyelash.

Kim drew closer. Felix had been moved into a private room (as the cost was being footed by the Space Center) and although Kim was no longer restrained by worrying about disturbing other patients, the sheer look of disbelief and god-knew-what on Monique's face made the red-haired teen proceed cautiously.

"Mo?"

Not so much as a twitch. Kim cast a hasty glance at Felix himself. Although no longer tied to any kind of life monitoring equipment, even in the darkened room Kim could see that the boy in the bed was breathing—

Kim hesitated a moment—

"Monique?" she then said very softly, touching her friend on the arm even as she tensed for a reaction—

But Monique didn't jump . . . still didn't move a muscle . . . except her lips did move . . . but whatever she said was too low for Kim to hear.

Kim then . . . gently but firmly put her hand on her friends forearm, wincing sharply on the inside at the pain as her fingers curled about her friends arm as much as they could.

"What is it Mo? What's wrong?"

"He was talking—"

Kim blinked . . . snatched a sharp glance at Felix's face, then focused on her friend, her alarm growing. "Mo, what do you mean? I don't see—"

"Nobody has," came Monique's voice in return, thick with emotion, husky with agony, strained with disbelief, taunt with conviction. "I didn't think I had either. But it's happened over and over. I sit here . . . in the dark . . . and I watch him. And I doze or fall asleep . . . and at some point . . . I become aware . . . that his lips are moving . . . that he's actually 'talking' to . . . something or . . . someone—"

Monique slowly looked at last to her friend, the expression on her face screaming that someone tell her that she wasn't seeing things, that she wasn't going crazy! "I would stare at it for the longest time before I realized just what it was that I was seeing. Then I'd jerk awake or alert or jump up . . . and there would be nothing." She looked back at Felix's unmoving form "It was like it never happened. he would be so cold . . . so still . . . I would have to check his pulse to make sure . . . "

Then the black girls head slowly shook as if she was trying to convince herself while knowing that she _had_ to be wrong. "But it was always the same . . . every time . . . . . . then . . . . . . then yesterday . . . I was sitting here . . . I was dozing . . . and it was happening again . . . and the nurse came in and it stopped—"

Monique's other hand came up as she bit at her knuckles, using the pain to keep from screaming—"I realized . . . that it wasn't just me that was causing it to stop. That . . . it might be the sudden interruption from the nurse or when I was jerking awake—" and her voice died there.

Kim didn't know whether to be horrified for Monique . . . or because of her. But instinctively she knew that she had to do something to break whatever hold had control of her friend. So Kim reached out with her other hand and slowly but forcefully turned her friend around and away from the bed (biting her lower lip to keep from grunting from the pain).

The line of sight now broken, Kim led Monique over to the two chairs next to the wall, her eyes locked on her friends still unseeing eyes. It wasn't until Kim had guided them both into seats that she dared to ask, "what happened . . . here . . . and now Mo?"

A haunted look came into the black girls eyes even as tears started to run from them—"t—t—tonight . . . I saw it again . . . " and her eyes still didn't see Kim before her. They were seeing again whatever it had been that Monique had seen . . . "And I forced myself . . . not to jump . . . . . . I got up very slowly . . . . . . I was able to stand all the way up . . . . . . " and the eyes squeezed closed believing/not believing—

"I was able to stand there, Monique whispered as if scared to death that someone other than Kim would hear her, " . . . right where you saw me . . . right next to him . . . and I _watched him talk to something or someone_ . . . . . . right up to when I called his name—"

Kim found that she had stopped breathing. In order to jumpstart her lungs, she finished for Monique with the only possible outcome that she could guess. "And Felix stopped talking when you spoke?"

Monique replied with a sharp nod of her head. "And" continued Kim, "he didn't start again once he stopped?" Another sharp nod.

That was followed by a suppressed sob. "No one will believe me," Monique choked.

Kim reached out and gathered her now weeping friend into her arms, reflecting on the world, its strange ways . . . and her own confused thoughts of late—

Especially thoughts of her BFBF and the strange circumstances surrounding him—

"I believe you," Kim spoke into her friend's ear, stunningly surprised at the conviction that was clear in her own voice.

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_Why do I keep finding myself in awkweird places with females I would rather be running away from?_ Ron whined to himself as he fought back an urge to pull fiercely at his shirt collar.

_Why do I feel like a bad little girl waiting to be punished?_ Bonnie sat quietly watching the boy standing in front of her bed, trying her best not to squirm and fidget—

Ron looked close, seeing things in the girl before him that made him feel somewhat better. Bonnie was out of intensive care and well on the road to recovery. In the late afternoon light that was coming in through the window, her could see that her color was back, her eyes were no longer dead—

But it was obvious that the weight of the world was still on the brunette's shoulders—

Bonnie could see that Ron looked well and seemed to be his old happy-go-lucky self—

Until one got a real close look at the ghosts behind the eyes.

"**I**" the two of them said simultaneously. Both of their reactions were also identical, eyes snapping away, blush coming to their faces as each of them tried to find something else to say through the tension.

"I think," came a quiet voice from the bed as Bonnie started again, "I said it already but I really can't remember. I was so zoned out from the pain and the drugs . . . so I'll say it again . . . thank you Ron," her voice choked on the last words.

Ron felt very uncomfortable and his head dropped further. He mumbled something in reply.

Bonnie felt the tension build again. She had something else she wanted to say . . . and there was something else that she had to ask . . . . . . but she didn't know how. It . . . struck her as . . . very weird . . . to see the young man in front of her, and for her not to be brimming over with annoyance, contempt and a smug sense of self-superiority.

Now she knew better, but the problem was—

That she really didn't _know_ anything.

All Bonnie had was the hints and inferences from the Old Man and the prior incidences . . . the confrontation in the gym office, the van garage as everything went completely black . . . and the thing with the sword in another hospital room on a morning that seemed impossibly long ago—

Bonnie knew that she had to . . . she _needed_ to somehow understand just what had happened in those instances.

But how do you ask questions . . . when you knew nothing. And Bonnie didn't think that something like 'Ron—have you become an ninja?' would go over very well.

But it seemed that Ron beat her to the punch—

"D—do you remember from that night saying something about . . . an 'Old Man' Bonnie?"

That quiet, unexpected question shocked Bonnie for more than a moment. Her brain flailed about trying to understand/fathom/answer—

"I----------------" was all Bonnie could manage to voice.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about it," Ron amended hastily.

And that oh so familiar, hesitant, almost frightened sounding tone from Ron brought back memories and caused Bonnie to do something totally unexpected and all too lacking in her life . . .

She chuckled—

A perplexed look came over Ron's face—

And that made Bonnie chuckle harder.

But many things were still too sore and stiff for the humor in her to move beyond that level. Regardless, in response to Bonnie's actions, Ron was forced to look down at himself, checking to make sure that he hadn't left something unzipped or open or hanging out or ripped or—

"How do you do it Ron?" Bonnie managed at last to breathe at him.

"_What?_" Ron managed to reply but in exasperation.

Bonnie shook her head both in amusement and sadness as so many memories and feeling swept through her. "How can you do what you do sometimes, being so hard, so focused and forceful, scaring me to death in the process while the rest of the time you act like some kind of . . . of . . . " Bonnie would not and could not say 'loser'.

Then Ron finally caught on and he bowed to her with a flourish. "Another service of 'Never Be Normal Stoppable'." He came back upright and grinned at Bonnie as she worked to recover herself.

And as she did so, the humor left Ron's face and he asked, "can you answer the question Bonnie?"

That made the humor leave Bonnie's face. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to decide how—

"He . . . the Old Man," and Ron's voice was once again very quiet, "made it possible for you to escape from the psych ward didn't he." Bonnie nodded, her eyes closing to relive that terrible decision that she had to make despite being so lost and alone.

"He's your teacher," and Bonnie's voice came back at Ron just as quietly. "Something to do with that 'exchange' that you did in Japan and he's the one who gave you the sword."

Ron blinked, sudden alarm roaring through him. Bonnie had made that a statement . . . not a question. How did she—?

Bonnie must had assumed what his reaction would be for although her eyes were still closed, her head shook sadly, "I've had way too much time to think way too many things through Ron." Then her eyes opened and looked at him . . . eyes full of questions.

Ron could feel the weight of those questions pulling at him.

He had to be honest—

"I don't know what I can say Bonnie . . . and I'm really not sure of just how much I should say," Ron's tone was sincerely sorry. "Yes . . . he is my Sensei . . . my teacher. But . . . " and Bonnie realized that part of Ron's hesitation was that _he_ himself was unsure of what he was trying to explain. "He's not a teacher in the sense of the ones at school."

That made the questioning look on Bonnie face even more intense. But at the same time, she could tell that Ron was struggling to come up with a concept that would mean something not just to her . . . but to the both of them—

Even as Bonnie wondered, Ron had come to the sudden realization that he had never really thought about his relationship with Sensei. And doing so now almost made his head hurt for the very concept of him trying to come up with a 'concept' was too much brain work from him, something usually done by Wade or Kim. But . . . while seeing Bonnie's need . . . he discovered that he too 'needed' to know—

"There are," and the thought and the hesitation in his voice was thick, "some things like the healing ritual that he has taught me . . . (Bonnie's eyes went wide for although she _knew_ what Ron had done to her, having him actually acknowledge it made it seem so much more 'real') . . . but almost everything else . . . he's . . . kind of pointed me in the direction of something and expected me to find it on my own." Ron paused significantly before continuing with a tone both annoyed and worried. "I think that's what's going on right now . . . I've tried and tried to 'contact' Sensei since the night after everything happened. He . . . didn't respond . . . until last night . . . " and Ron's head dropped, too many emotions to count flashing across his features, "and even last night . . . he didn't talk to me . . . but he left me the impression . . . that I'm in the middle to a test . . . and that I'm on my own with it." Ron's head dropped even further until his chin was on his chest. "He's only done that too me once before."

"When was that?" Bonnie breathed.

Ron just shook his head, leaving Bonnie with the unspoken understanding that he couldn't talk about that prior occasion . . . because it was too hard for him to do so.

"So . . . " Bonnie was trying to be as gentle as she could be . . . but at the same time she could feel her frustration after all her anticipation rising, "can you tell me anything at all?"

Ron gave a snort that sounded like a half-laugh along with a helpless shrug of his shoulders. "I'm clueless—"

"As usual," the words coming out of Bonnie's mouth without any thought—

She instantly clamped a hand over her mouth as she watched Ron's face fall—

Ron felt all the old emotions, anger, belittlement, shame, wash through him. he gritted his teeth and started to turn about—

Then he glimpsed the horror and sorrow in Bonnie's face . . . which stopped him—

After a very long moment, Bonnie pulled her hand down and whimpered, "I'm sorry Ron, I really didn't mean that. It slipped out. I—I can't change everything about myself overnight . . . but I _know_ better now, I really do—"

Ron took a very long, slow breath. "I—understand . . . I guess," he replied in a tight tone. After another long moment she shook his head. "Look Bonnie, I would like to tell you everything I know . . . in fact . . . I would really _like_ to talk to you about it" and Bonnie sucked in a breath because Ron's look had become absolutely miserable as he said this—

And even more so as he finished " . . . but . . . but . . . Kim . . . . . . . "

Bonnie looked at Ron and she realized . . . and it had something to do with Kim . . . what could there possibly be that . . . and involved with whatever his relation with his Sensei and the training and what was happening with her and what had happened, what Ron had done for/to her and maybe his strange powers and . . .

Then Bonnie put two and two together—

After all, one of the many things that she had been thinking long and hard about was why the Old Man had 'briefed' her to talk to Ron on that night weeks ago . . . but even more so, on why Ron had had to come to her in the first place . . . not Kim . . . who should have been the one whom Ron could go to for anything and everything—

Except for maybe . . . . . .

"You haven't told Kim," Bonnie whispered in complete disbelief. "She doesn't know about all these strange . . . powers that you have."

Ron just nodded in silent reply. Bonnie's train of thought continued. "Kim knows nothing about what's happening with you, about what happened between you and I, about the Old Man-your Sensei and his teaching . . . your training . . . his teaching and training the _both of us_ and this 'test' your talking about . . . and that's because you can't tell her for some reason . . . just like you couldn't tell anyone about what happened when you went on that exchange to Japan—"

"Not even her . . . you can't tell Kim about it at all—"

Ron sadly nodded his head sadly. "Kim suspects a lot, she knows _something's_ happening . . . she's met Sensei and seen some of his abilities . . . but . . . she's too practical, too 'real' to accept it for what it is. so . . . " and Ron looked so upset when he said, "so we can't talk about it even if I could tell her." Then Ron's head raised and Bonnie's breath froze when she saw the look in his eyes. "And I can't!" His eyes now bored straight into Bonnie. "I'm hoping . . . I'm really _really_ hoping that that's why Sensei spoke to you that other night, to let me know that _we_ can talk about it—"

"Oh no," Bonnie warned, both hands going up to ward him off.

Anguish and surprise came to Ron's face, "but—"

"No Ron!" Bonnie snapped. "I will not be in a position where you're telling _me_ secrets you can't tell your girlfriend. That's a straight line one-way-ticket to Kim putting her foot so far up my ass that her toes will stick out my ears!"

Ron looked confused. "But it seemed like you wanted to know—"

"Yes I want to know!" and Bonnie let her frustration at the whole situation snarl that line out. "In fact . . . I think that since I was trying so Goddamn hard to die that I have a right to know . . . but I don't want to know at the cost of what will happen if Kim goes postal on me because we, you and I are sharing secrets that she's not a part of!"

Ron's face fell. Behind it, Bonnie could see understanding . . . angry understanding . . . although she didn't know who the anger was directed at—

And she didn't care too.

"I'm sorry Ron," and her voice was lower, calmer . . . trying to convey that she understood how he felt, "I want to understand just as badly as you do. But now . . . so soon after so much has happened, with Kim probably having issues all over the place . . . I can't afford to even think about getting on her bad side." Her eyes closed and she tired to sound as convincing as she could. "I'm so grateful now for what you did . . . no . . . let me rephrase that . . . " and Bonnie tired to get herself together—

"I say that I'm grateful now . . . because I didn't understand before . . . and I'm understanding more every day. Before . . . even right after . . . what you did, I didn't get it. I wanted to die. I knew I was dieing from Carla knifing me. I was happy that I was dieing . . . it was even better that I was going to have to commit suicide . . . that I was dieing for a good reason, I was dieing doing something . . . something good . . . at least I guess it was good what I did to Carla . . . "

Bonnie looked back at Ron, desperately trying to get him to understand what it was she was— "What I'm trying to say . . . is that . . . everything's changed Ron. I told Kim . . . I told her I want to live now . . . I want to try to get my life together and _do_ something with it . . . "

Amazement filled her face as her eyes looked inward, "Felix saved my sanity . . . the Old Man . . . he saved my soul . . . the rest—"

Bonnie's eyes came to Ron once again, thankfulness and gratefulness and wonder and hope streaming out of those eyes. "And the rest . . . it's because of Barkin and Whitler . . . and Kim . . . and most of all, Tara . . . and you . . . that I have a chance to do so." And her head shook just the slightest. "And I can't do _anything_ to jeopardize that . . . at least until I have some kind of idea of what I'm doing, where I'm going and what's going to happen to me."

Ron now looked perplexed. "What . . . what do you mean by that Bonnie? About where you're going?"

Now Bonnie's eyes avoided him. "That's what I wanted to tell both you and Kim. I . . . guess that I've had my chance to say thank you anyway. So if she's outside . . . I can tell the both of you just what decisions I've been able to make—"

Ron still looked perplexed with his all the other emotions, disappointment, anger, frustration chief among them simmering just under the surface. But he nodded to Bonnie—

"She's with Monique and Felix, I'll call her—"


	48. Not So Minor Events

"—no promises or threats were made to you or anyone close to you in order force you to make this plea?"

"No your honor."

"No deals or promises have been made to you—other than those already specified in open court—in order to get you to plead guilty?"

"No your honor."

"You are making this guilty plea freely and voluntarily because it is in your best interest to do so and because you are in fact are guilty of the charges named in the complaint?"

"Yes your honor."

The silver haired man in the black robes sitting behind the imposing bench that dominated the small courtroom took a moment to adjust his glasses as he continued to scan the documents in his hand. He then dropped the sheet from before his eyes, looking sharply out at the teen standing contritely to the right of counsel—

"Before I take the plea, I am going to place a number of things on the record—" the silver haired man then scanned the top of the bench before him, seemingly cluttered with multiple papers and documents. "Given the nature of the offense combined with the fact that with a single exception, the co-defendants in this case were both adults and members of a known criminal street gang as classified under the appropriate statues, there was a very real possibility that you could have been remanded to the custody of the adult courts . . . where the minimum sentencing for this offense could have been thirty-six months in state prison despite your lack of any prior criminal record. Additional time could very well have been accrued due to the use of a firearm in the commission of the crime—"

The silence and even more so, the complete stillness in the small courtroom only accented the total concentration of all present on the silver-haired judges words. All eyes were totally riveted on the jurist—

All eyes . . . except one pair of emerald green ones . . . which were locked on the back of the teen girl standing to the right of the defense counsel . . .

Skepticism and disbelief filled those emerald eyes . . . but . . . in the center of this red-headed watchers being . . . a denied, suppressed realization slowly started to expand.

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At the same time, across the city of Middleton Colorado, another meeting was taking place in the conference room of a non-descript office complex. A gathering of people, adults and teens, all of them dressed in meeting/interview/church type attire, sat quietly waiting. There was no conversation and movement/fidgeting was being suppressed by the frowning, eyes-hidden-by-impenetrable-sunglasses gazes of two men at the corners of the room before them. An additional man stood at the only door, inferring that leaving, even for something like a bathroom break, would not be allowed. The teens looked frightened, some of the adults alarmed and a couple of the more aggressive adults, angry.

Then, as if cued by something the gather could not hear, the man in black by the door stepped to the side of it, opening that same door as he did so.

In strode a man and a woman, both of them also dressed in conservative black.

But they were not the hidden-eyed seemingly emotionless robots of the monitors. He was handsome with very shortcut brown hair, a boyish face that demanded undivided attention and piercing eyes that seemed to see right into the brain of those he addressed. She was . . . exotic. Dark hair cascading down around her shoulders, a 'classic' face dominated by huge 'all seeing' eyes . . . and an aura about her of a cobra ready to strike.

"Ladies and Gentleman," the Man in Black greeted the assembled.

"Sir . . . " suddenly spoke the man in the group whose face could be described as the 'angriest'. This man stood as he spoke, interrupting the Man in Black, "what is the meaning of this? My wife, my daughters and myself are 'summoned' by a pair of men named 'Smith' who say that their from the government, brought here without explanation . . . to be put into a group containing almost all the members of the 'gang' that my youngest daughter inadvertently became involved in at her high school—"

"Mr. Mayhew!" the Man in Black only raised his voice slightly but it seemed to thunder over Mayhew who immediately blanched, shutting up. The Man in Black walked over to him, his arms held easily behind his back . . . but there was just something else about his body language that made Mayhew cringe and want to back away . . . if there had been room to do so.

"Mr. Mayhew," the Man in Black began again but this time much much more quietly so that only Mayhew and those members of his family next to him could hear. "I will tolerate no outbursts sir. You will sit quietly and listen very carefully to what is going to be said. If you don't . . . well . . . I'm sure you would not like the IRS to find out about that overseas account with the money in it from the insider trading . . . "

Mayhew turned as white as a sheet, slowly sinking back into his chair—

All the others in the room did not miss his reaction to the Man in Blacks whisper . . . nor the subsequent reactions of Mayhews wife and children. As one, they shut their mouths, erased any thoughts of protest or questions . . . and crossed their fingers that the Man in Black would not come and talk directly to them.

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"And finally," Judge Higgins stated, concluding his comments, "I have given grave attention and weight to both the prosecutor and the defense in their requests pertaining to the disposition of this matter. I have read with interest the fitness report from the probation officer as well as the analyses from the psychologist, the junior AA counselor and the caseworker from the Dept of Children's Services. I have reviewed the correspondence from both our local law enforcement detectives and the State and Federal investigators involved" The judge then stopped and reached to the side, picking up several papers. "In addition, a document of advisement from the director of Global Justice, a recommendation from the head of the FBI, additional letters of recommendation and referral from such persons as the Minors Ballet teacher and the School Principal of Middleton High, and first and foremost, a letter from the victim in this case—"

Several eyes glanced at the freckled faced youth with the messy blond hair who standing against the back wall with his arms crossed, a most serious look on his face—

The pair of emerald eyes glanced at him as well, getting a better look at the 'serious faced' boy because the owner of those eyes was standing right directly next to him—

The owner of the emerald eyes knew why the face under the blond hair was so serious at this particular moment. She knew that he felt her eyes on him—

It wasn't that the boy and her had had an . . . argument over his writing of that particular letter . . . it had just been that she had made her displeasure very well known and he—

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Despite the tension and suppressed fear sitting heavily in the very air they breathed, the mother of one of the teens in the former posse of Bonnie Rockwaller/Carla Ethome just could not believe what it was that she was hearing.

"You mean to tell us that you're _telling us_ that we are not to try to seek either criminal charges or civil restitution against the Rockwaller family and that little slut of a daughter of theirs whose RESPONSIBLE for starting the whole thing that all these poor girls including my own got swept up into through no fault of their own."

"I believe that's what I just said," the Man in Black replied in agreeable tone.

"But—" one of the fathers who initially had had an angry face which had reappeared in the heat of the moment, his fear and hesitation momentarily due to the stress caused by the instance of unreal outrageousness, "how can you do that to us? How can you deny us our basic constitutional right—"

"Let's just say," the Man in Black interrupted, his tone still agreeable, "that it would be in your, in all of your best interests (looking across the whole group) to pretend that the events we are discussing never happened."

"How can you—" the man started again, his ire rising despite—

"Your daughter—" the Woman in Black intoned . . . and _her_ tone was definitely _not_ agreeable, "may have been drunk when Rockwaller got that . . . compromising video of her at that college frat house. . . oh heck, let's not be polite and say—orgy" and those 'all seeing' eyes of the Woman in Black turned on the girl who felt as if her skin was being peeled off by the gaze, "but the 'live-camcorder-video' your daughter has been streaming from her bedroom on the internet ever since then . . . despite the 'age of consent' in this state, which she has yet to reach I might add, per Federal law, you have to be at least eighteen to do what she's been . . . 'broadcasting' with remarkable frequency—"

At the sudden revelation/looks, the girl in question was suddenly hysterical, leaping out of her seat—

But there was nowhere to go. The girl ended up sobbing, curled up in a corner alone for she kicked and scratched at her mother when she tried to approach.

The Woman in Black scorched the entire group before her with her eyes. "It will suffice to say that something 'unfortunate' could be said for at least one member of each family here."

The Man in Black gave the group his best boyish smile. "And we would much rather not have to ruin anyone else's day right now."

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"In the matter of Minor Bonnie R.," Judge Higgins intoned, "complaint number JVMD061755; in regards to count three; Solicitation to commit a Capital Crime, how does the Minor plead?"

"Guilty your Honor."

"Counsel join?"

"Counsel joins your Honor," replied the attorney next to the pale-faced teen.

"Very well," Higgins continued. "Count one, Attempted Murder with Special Circumstances—those circumstancing being that a firearm was used; count two, Criminal Conspiracy; and count four, Stalking, are all set aside and dismissed, Furtherance of Justice. Is there any cause at this time why sentencing should not proceed?" he finished looking at both the prosecution and defense—

Kim Possible, standing with her back against the rear wall of the courtroom, arms folded across her chest as both a barrier to the world that was out there as well as a cage for what was inside her didn't realize just how hard she was biting her lower lip as she slowly shook her head in what she could only acknowledge as disbelief. _She did it! Bonnie really did it! I didn't think . . . I really did not think—_

Kim's memory suddenly went back to that moment in Bonnie's hospital room at Middleton Medical Center. Kim had been with Monique's mother (who had been hastily called to the scene from her job down the street) trying to better understand just what had happened with/to her friend. At that point Ron had finally beeped her. 'Reluctance' 'dislike', 'total complete annoyance' had been Kim's mood as she answered the summons, more than angry and annoyed to be called for a meeting with someone she didn't want to have any more contact with let alone having to leave Monique at a time like this.

When she arrived, Kim had noted (and silently welcomed/approved/was delighted) with the tension heavy atmosphere of the room and the grim, unhappy faces worn by both her BFBF and the hospital beds occupant. This only reinforced her desire that this unwanted meeting be short and sweet—

And Kim was actually thankful when in her opinion, Bonnie made it just that. "I want you two to know," the bedridden brunette had said with strain that even Kim had felt despite her dislike for the victim, "that I have made the decision to totally cooperate with the police and any and everybody else when it comes to what happened to you Ron, the gang members, Carla, the posse, anything that happened to you or your family Kim, regardless if the consequences. It's something that I have to do if—"

As far as Kim was concerned, at that point, Bonnie had said everything that needed saying. She had immediately turned on her heel, one forearm looping around one of her boyfriend's arms (to drag Ron bodily out if necessary), snapping a terse, "as if all that is gonna make up for any of the drama Bonnie—" as she had walked out, half dragging her boyfriend behind her. She hadn't seen Bonnie since that moment until this day when Bonnie had been brought before the judge to plead in juvenile court.

During the period in between, Kim had tried not to think about Bonnie at all. But questions and briefings and debriefings and interviews had at one time or another forced the redheaded teen to think and speak about her rival. But only now, at this moment of realization in the juvenile courtroom, as she watched her former rival, dressed in a plain conservative dress, standing before the judge with a look of naked fear on her face but grim determination in her eyes, both body language and vocal tone 'clear and honest' as she accepted her fate, Kim recognized that she had intentionally suppressed all thoughts and emotions against Bonnie beneath a mind set in which she had convinced herself that almost everything involving Bonnie and any possible change in her would cease, break down or revert back to the Bonnie of old, the Bonnie of 'high school evil' . . . because after so long . . . Kim could not honestly conceive or accept a Bonnie . . . who was not evil—

And somehow . . . the thought that she couldn't, was very shameful—

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"—how can this possibly be happening to us," the same woman continued. "This is America, this kind of thing is not suppose to happen here!"

The Man in Black looked at her with a properly sympathetic face. His tone was equally sympathetic. . . but somehow he also made it sound as if he was lecturing a seven year old.

"Sometimes even citizens of this country have to make sacrifices for that freedom that you are speaking about. And in today's world, with the criminal cartels attempting to make us their pawns, the terrorists wanting to blow us up for their agendas, the supervillians wanting to enslave us so they can take that freedom away and the pure madmen, like the man responsible for what so recently happened, who just for one demented reason or another, want to destroy all life as we know it on this planet, sometime a persons or a small group of persons freedom has to get set aside for the common good." His eyes hardened causing a chill to run through his audience. "That's why people like us (and he tossed his head to indicate all those in black around him) also exist . . . and you will forget that we exist the moment you walk out of this room or something very, very bad will happen." The chill in the room deepened to near frozen.

"In this instance," the Woman in Black started, her tone annoyed and snappish, "what is happening right here and now is only a part of several 'requests' of someone that we neither like or agree with. We however are the 'interments' of her demanding whims. We . . . and our part of the government do not agree or condone this. As far as we are concerned, you all could both criminally and civilly destroy Rockwaller, her family, the Middleton school system, the Middleton city government and whomever else you choose and we could care less. But we were . . . overruled." The Woman in Black gave them a mirthless smile. "If you want to take comfort in it, you folks aren't the only ones who are the targets of this persons whims—"

"We have—" the woman almost whined—

"No choice," the Woman in Black finished in a tone colder that the center of the universe.

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"In—" Judge Higgins started formally, "the matter of the State of Colorado vs. Minor Bonnie R., criminal complaint number JVMD061755, I find as following. That the minor knows and understand all of her constitutional rights, that all waivers where knowingly, truthfully and expressly made, that the minor understands the consequences of her plea and is aware and understanding of all the ramifications thereof. In this matter I therefore order the following—"

'The Minor is placed on five years formal probation with all appropriate terms and conditions. The Minor is to undergo psychiatric counseling at the direction of the probation department. The Minor is to undergo substance abuse rehabilitation at the direction of the probation department. The Minor is to submit to random testing at the direction of the probation department. The Minor is to perform one thousand hours of community service work at the direction of the probation department. The Minor is to continue to cooperate with all involved law enforcement and other government agencies in the ongoing investigation and those agencies are to report back to both the probation department and this court on a regular basis the Minors level of cooperation and involvement. The Minor is to maintain her schooling at an appropriate grade point level and is to obtain and maintain appropriate employment with the approval of the probation department. Added to that, the Minor is to make full financial restitution to all parties identified by law enforcement or the probation department. The Minor is also directed to meet with all aggrieved parties in this matter under the supervision of the probation department and render her apologies to those parties. The Minor is to maintain residence, employment and schooling in the Middleton metropolitan area and will be equipped with a tracking device to enforce compliance."

The judge then looked sharply at Bonnie. "I am specifically going to add, that any incidents or like conduct such as what occurred in the Handicapped Transportation Garaging Facility at Middleton High School will not be tolerated. Your intent and motivation in that incident I gravely question regardless of the 'good' of the outcome and I will _not_ tolerate any like action or incident. Is that _clear_!"

"Yes your Honor," Bonnie replied meekly.

The judge sternly held her gaze for a long moment as if judging Bonnie's honesty and sincerity. There was a small nod of his head and he continued with the same steel tone. "With the agreement of the District Attorneys office, citing the cooperation and willingness that the Minor has already put forth in the ongoing investigation . . . and taking into account the letters of reference and recommendation from so many parties including the victim in this case (the judge glanced at Ron Stoppable but made not other gesture), I will stay any mandatory time in the Youth Authority." The judge pointed his gavel right at Bonnie. "Only your lack of any prior criminal record allows me to do this young lady. Considering that in a way, if the other suspects in this case had managed to kill the victim . . . mankind might be extinct now because the victim would not have been there to assist in the defeat of the menace that occurred weeks ago. We . . . and I can not stress this point enough, will never truly know what consequence our actions may have at a later date—"

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Everything that needed to be said had been. The Man in Black surveyed the group one last time with his eyes; he then nodded, saying, "you may go."

As the group slowly realized just what he had told them, and the flashes of hesitation and/or fear that his releasing them might be/could be a ploy or that they were in fact going to be taken out of the room and someplace else where they would never been seen or heard from again—

But finally they started to rise; families gathering close in together for support. Some of them now avoided looking at him or his partner or the other operatives in the room, others still could not take their eyes off of him as if waiting for him to change his mind—

Inwardly the Man in Black nodded in satisfaction. Experience told them that this group was sufficiently cowed. It had been a blatant lie when he told them that they had something 'unfortunate' on at least one member of each family but he and his partner had dropped enough tidbits and gotten enough reaction out of the ones they _did_ have dirt on to get the reaction they needed from the others. And the fear would keep them from ever talking among themselves to find out if that statement was true or not.

_The BIG lie always works best because no one will rise up to contest it_ and the Man in Black gave an almost silent snort of acknowledgement to that thought.

One of the youngest girls in the 'group' seemed to stop and try to see into him. But all his shields were up; any attempt to 'see' him for anything other than his professional image would fail. But this one . . . he could tell that she had guts, for suddenly—

"—just . . . . . . just . . . who . . . are you?" Sherrie Winer managed to ask through her fear—

The Couple in Black glanced at each other; there might have been a spark of humor that passed between those two pair of eyes that was meant only for the other. For, when they turned back to face the girl before them, their faces were set and grim, their tones dangerous—

"I am . . . Mr. Smith"

"And I am Mrs. Smith—"

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"KP?"

Kim startled at the voice at her side. She was jarred by the realization that she was outside, standing next to a tree in the courtyard of the judicial building—. She had no memory of leaving the court, no memory of pulling on her jacket or of putting on her mittens over her recently bandage-free hands against the cold of the first snow of November—

"Are you okay?" Ron asked very quietly.

Kim turned her face away from her boyfriend—

But she knew what she had to say.

"Ron . . . I—I need to apologize for getting so angry over that letter you wrote about Bonnie. I . . . I guess I now know just why—" but her voice trailed off for she realized that she still didn't want to—

"You really can't believe," and Ron's tone was a little annoyed but his feeling for her were also there, "that Bonnie means what she says about changing and starting a new life."

Kim raised her hands in helplessness. "Ron . . . it's . . . . it's . . . . . it's . . . . . . it's Bonnie! for Gods sake. How can someone like her—"

"How can she not change considering what she's gone through," Ron said; perhaps a little sharper than he intended. But then . . . after a moment he added, "cause she won't be able to change, really change and make it stick if . . . if she has to go it alone—"

Kim stood stock still for a long moment, trying to decipher what her boyfriend had just said. It was almost as if Ron planned in actively helping—

Slowly Kim turned to look at her BFBF, her face incredulous. "Ron . . . I know that I'm probably being oh so unreasonable but frankly I don't care. You . . . you can't be thinking of helping Bonnie when they let her out next week?"

Ron's whole presence changed and Kim felt her insides go cold. For his look was now angry . . . at _her_ and even worse, disappointed _at her_.

"Someone has to Kim," Ron's tone was as cold as the air frosting their breath. "Especially now with Felix out of the picture and . . . Tara . . . is gone." Ron had to suck in a breath before being able to continue. "Bonnie's going to need help. She's going to need a friend; any kind of a friend in order to survive coming back in among everything that she's destroyed—"

"I said that I wouldn't hinder her," Kim whined back at him. "But think of what it will look like if my _boyfriend_ was helping her—"

"Is that the food chain talking Kim?"

Kim rocked back as if physically struck, eyes wide, the disbelief that Bonnie could change reduced to insignificance against Ron . . . her own boyfriend . . . making that kind of an accusation toward her!

But that in itself was insignificant with the fact that at that moment, that same boyfriend grabbed her firmly by both arms and spoke right into her face, jerking her by her shoulders with each point that he made—

"Kim . . . don't you understand . . . don't you _see_ . . . _you're_ the key to Bonnie's recovery. You _must_ see that! Every single student at school will take their cue on how to handle and treat Bonnie _directly from you_. If you don't give her half a chance, _none_ of the other kids will give her _any_ kind of a chance." Ron released her, backing away, a look of near degust on him face. "I read somewhere that sometime heroes have to do things that they don't like in order to reach a goal that is good and worthy. Don't you think that taking someone who has fallen so much further than even _you_ did, and helping them become a good and useful person is a good and worthy goal? Are you that selfish? Are you that stuck up?"

Kim didn't know what horrified her more. Ron saying something like that to her, apparently meaning every word of it, or the way he was looking at her—

Disgusted.

"Ron . . . I . . . "

"Are you going to break up with me because I'm going to help Bonnie?"

Kim's eyes were instantly flooded with tears. "Ron! NO! Of course not! It's just that—"

"I," and Ron's voice was suddenly soft, choked with a host of emotions. "I _don't like_ Bonnie Kim! She's done too much bad; she's hurt me and you and Rufus too many times for me to like her. But . . . that's not why I helped her before . . . and it's not why I want to help her now. It's because she at the very bottom and she _needs_ help." A pleading tone/look came to Ron, "if she can change, if someone took the time and the effort to help her change . . . blocked her from the sticks and stones and arrows long enough for her to be able to have half a chance . . . a chance where she could become a new Bonnie, one that we _could_ like . . . wouldn't that be worth it KP?"

Kim stared at Ron, the feeling deep down inside her that she had been trying to deny was still there . . . but now at least she knew what it was.

"Ron . . . do you think that Bonnie has honestly and truly changed? To where it's gonna stick? When she and I talked . . . I think . . . I think I believed her . . . . . but . . . since then . . . I have doubts Ron, this is Bonnie—"

"Don't you _want_ to believe KP? Don't you _want_ to _believe_ that Bonnie really can change her life?"

Kim stood stock still, trying to fathom . . . trying to realize . . . and she did realize—

She now knew what that feeling was deep inside her—

"No Ron," and shame dripped in her tone. "It's not that I cant believe that Bonnie can change . . . because I know . . . or at least . . . I really do hope that she can. It's just that . . . I can feel inside of me . . . something in me wants her too—" Her head dropped and the tears fell from her eyes. "There's to much of me that doesn't want her to change Ron . . . doesn't want her to make a new life for herself . . . because that part of me still wants it's revenge against Bonnie . . . for what she did . . . and Carla did . . . and Shego . . . and my dad when he was being such an ass and everybody else whose ever done _anything_ to me and I've been forced to swallow it all because I'm a good little _hero_ who can't ever think about getting any of my own back because—"

And then Ron's arms were around her and Kim was crying hard into his shoulder—

"I'm sorry Ron," she sobbed.

Ron stroked her hair and said the only thing he could say . . . which was also the truth because he knew the girl in his arms so well.

"I know you are . . . and its gonna be all right."

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"It's damn unfortunate Jim," Professor Allenford said into his phone, "that there wasn't time to get either a trailer mounted Cross Radical Anomaly Scanning Highwave array into place or utilize one of the orbital platforms so equipped."

"So you definitely think," Dr James Possible replied from his desk at the Space Center across town, "that there was some kind of sudden interspatial disruption during the final event?"

"I'm almost positive that there had to have been one." Allenford pronounced. "The amount of energy that was recorded here at the institute when the falling hovership pierced the barrier field and it vented into the sky in no way correlates with the models as far as the amount of energy there _should_ have been."

"That very well could have been a blessing in disguise Al." MrDrP countered.

"Agreed, agreed," Allenford acknowledge with a wave of his hand—"

At almost the same moment, someplace far away on another continent—

"—because if zat energy had not been bled hoff in another direction; if it hat ezcaped into ze atmozphere with ze rest, ze destruction vould have been ten fold; everyting in izs path vould haf been leveled—"

The small squat male figure sat in the darkness, eyes still on the multiple computer screens which were the only source of light. He continued to dictate into his recorder.

"It is gut zat I had been vatching ze zituation vith all my high orbit spy platformz, vhich fortunately contained one vith a C.R.A.S.H array to d-tect ze spontaouz anomaly zat vaz observed."

The figure sat for a long moment contemplating— "Ze only question now iz vhat gut iz ze information zat all zer mizzing energy vent into a spontaneouz interdimensional portal into an unknown univerze—"

With a click, the man shut off the recorder, only to mutter softly afterwards—

"And zat zere vas an unplanned pazzenger who vent along for ze ride—"

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All looked up as the door burst open and one Ron Stoppable, literally tripping over his own feet in his haste, stumbled into the room.

"Hey, hey," he proclaimed as he lurched to his feet. "No problem everyone. I'm as light as a feather lifted on the wind—" as he tripped again on one of his shoelaces that had come loose.

Every eye in the room rolled and one voice spoke with both firmness and a touch of acceptance for who and what Ron was. "Have a seat Ron before you damage the furniture."

"No problem MrsDrP," the blond boy said as he now sheepishly moved toward one of the two seats left vacant for him and—

"Where's Kim?" Monique asked.

The 'look' came over Ron's face as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Ah well, she wanted to be here but something came up where she couldn't be here but she would be here if she could be here but she cant because she has to be somewhere else so she not here but is there and—"

"It's okay Ron," MrsDrP said with a calming hand. "I know what you're talking about although it happened faster than I expected. Sit down then so we can get started."

When Ron was finally settled, Anne Possible looked around at those seated in her office in the Middleton Medical Center, seeing the nervous fear in some and the quirked bafflement in others. What had to be done now was bring all of them to some kind of understanding. Taking a deep breath she—

"Having only recently regained my full mobility, I of course have been unable to monitor the situation as closely as I normally would have. But my trust in Doctors Watsonside and Endofit is complete. Dr Watsonside will start off."

As the doctor in question, a thin rail of a man, got up and went over to the easel mounted chart, Ron took a glimpse out of the side of his eyes to the others that sat before MrsDrP's desk. Monique was also thinner than a rail, thinner than she had been when she had gotten out of juvenile hall. Her long waist length hair had lost its luster and was frizzing at all the ends. Her hands were nervously playing with themselves in her lap and her feet where fidgeting. She did not look well.

Beyond Monique's mother who was sitting next to her daughter, Mrs. Renton looked just as pale and emaciated as the black teen. Her eyes were haunted as well, the guilt in them almost screaming for she had not been able to spend a tenth of the time with her son that his girlfriend had. But Felix's mother was a woman driven. She had been spending almost every waking minute of her life going over and over _everything_ involving in the mind merge experiment and the alteration done to it by Goody. Mrs. Renton was desperately trying to find something/_anything_ that had been missed that could account for her son's continuing condition.

"We," in his nasal voice, Dr. Watsonside started speaking—

And there wasn't a word after that 'we' that Ron understood, even when Dr Endofit took over. There was lots of pointing at and turning back and forth to the charts, photos and readouts but Ron was totally clueless until Dr Endofit said the next set of recognizable words which were, "are there any questions?"

Ron, for lack of anything else to do looked at Monique and was relieved to see that she had turned to look at him, her eyes and face as lost and bewildered as his had to be.

But Dr/Mrs. Renton spoke sharply. "My field is cybernetics, cybertronics, robotics and artificial intelligence . . . but I have educated myself as thoroughly as possible in the medical knowledge of my sons injuries, his current physical condition and the damage his body sustained, the slow deterioration that he had been undergoing (Monique and Ron looked at her with sudden shock) since the accident and all the possible treatments and complications that apply to a case such as his . . . " then she stopped and had to shake her head, " . . . but did you imply what I _think_ you implied?"

"Felicia," Anne Possible said softly to the mother of her almost-son-in-laws best male friend, "we don't understand it either but—"

"Would _somebody_," Monique interjected coming halfway to her feet in her anger/confusion; "please tell ME in language I can understand just what is going on?"

"Dear," Monique's moms voice was both sympathetic and pointed as she gently took her daughters arm in one hand, drawing the teen back down into her chair.

Anne sighed, looking down at her hands resting on her desktop. After a moment, those deep sapphire eyes came up to take the two teens unto herself.

"We are as lost and non-understanding as to the phenomenon that you saw Monique as when you brought it to our attention. Although several of us have now seen it for ourselves when the conditions and our conduct were proper for the event to happen, there is no known reason that _we_ know for it. As you know, we attempted to leave Felix permanently hooked to an EEG to attempt to get readings during the events, with a technician present for recording and tuning . . . but it is as if the EEG's presence inhibits the event for although conditions seemed identical to when the machine was _not_ there and Felix was observed to be 'talking', at no time did that same event happen when the EEG was in the room with him."

Anne leaned back into her chair, one hand rubbing at a temple. "We have inquired world wide as to any recorded event similar to what we are seeing . . . "

When Kim's mom stopped and seemed unsure, Monique prompted, "and . . . ?"

"The only response we got," Anne said very tiredly, "was from 'psychics' saying that Felix might be 'communicating with somebody on the other side—"

As expected, Anne saw Monique's face screw up with incredulous disbelief and denial—

And she felt a strong twinge of something else when she saw Ron's face fold with a sudden intense look of speculation and questions. She made a very _strong_ mental note to attempt to ask her future son-in-law the reason for his lack of disbelief.

"I don't even want to go there," Monique said with pain, one hand waving away all thoughts of what Anne had said as the other hand rubbed at her hurting forehead. "What was all that other stuff that was said about Felix's nerves and organs?"

"That's what I'm trying to get clarified," Dr Renton's tone was both disbelieving and questioning . . .

MrsDrP came forward in her chair again. "Felix was pinned in the wreckage of the vehicle driven by his father. Everything below his major organs, say from his small intestines down, was totally and completely crushed. That included the nerves in the very lowest part of his spine and the entire effected area of his lower body."

Now Dr Anne Possible fixed Ron Stoppable with a stare that seemed to peel the very skin from his body as she said, "due to all the tests we've run as a result of what Monique saw, we've found something else happening to Felix's body that we are at a total and complete loss to explain . . . although there have been in recent months too many like cases for us to count . . . all without a rational, logical medical explanation you understand."

Monique's eyes were totally on Kim's mom so she didn't notice that Ron was slowly shrinking into a small ball beside her. "What's happening to him?"

Without taking her eyes from Ron, Anne softly said, "we think . . . we don't know for sure because Felix would have to be awake for us to run positive testing . . . we think that some of the damage may have somehow . . . repaired itself—"

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Kim Possible stood far enough back from the open hanger doors to avoid the windswept rain sheeting in though the dark dreary afternoon—

Her mood however, was caught up in her own cold, dreary and unsettled thoughts/self of late. While part of her knew and acknowledged the progression of life and the changes it brought to her, to her world, to those in it and to the larger world beyond it; so much of all those things were in turmoil, so much was unknown . . . too much of her was wishing for a return to simpler times.

Her musing was interrupted, her head coming up as out somewhere in the gloom, the noise of engines came to her. Apprehension filled her as she started to step over to the side of the hanger, the arrival she had been waiting for was finally happening—

While the anticipation of the departure that was to follow, left her even colder that that wind driven rain that swept across this auxiliary military airfield in the pacific northwest, a site far out in the national forests as its use was for low profile and/or 'black' operations.

Kim's eyes snapped over as the familiar form of a Global Justice hovership abruptly broke out of the low cloud cover, corrected its course and settled low, making to come right into the open hanger doors. Kim slapped her hands flat over her ears at the noise quickly rose to body battering screams. She felt the sting of the cold rain on her face; the hoverships fans sucked it into the hanger as the ship itself crossed the threshold of the doors, the accompanying vortex driving Kim's hair straight out sideways, her mission clothes flapping and snapping in the hurricane force wind generated inside this enclosed space.

Through squinting eyes, Kim saw the hovership drop its gear and coast to a stop on its cushion of air before settling straight down . . . gear touching . . . and the fans immediately shutting down, the sonics winding down through the audible register—

Kim had come back up to standing, hands gathering her hair back into some semblance of order and neatness—

She didn't want the condition of her hair to be the source of a sarcastic comment—

The fact was, that she didn't want to be here . . . at this arrival/departure . . . at all . . . but at the same time . . . she knew that she had to be here . . .

Now . . . if she would only admit the truth as to why to herself—

So her insides were totally clenched up . . . going even tighter if that was possible as the hoverships side hatch opened . . .

Doctor Director led Shego out, holding one of the villainesses arm to support her balance on the steep metal hatch walk as Shego's hands were in metal binders—

It was freedom day for Kim's archenemy.

Kim felt Shego's eyes on her from the moment the woman stepped out of the ship. Those eyes stayed locked on her as Doctor Director led Shego, once again dressed in her signature green/black jumpsuit, to a point halfway between the ship and where the redheaded teen stood. Even when Doctor Director stopped and worked a control on her belt, causing the binders on Shego's hands to open apart, the raven-haired woman's eyes never left the teen before her.

At that point, Shego did turn her head and nod to Doctor Director for just a moment, saying one or two words . . . Director nodded back then, with a glance at Kim, Director turned towards the hovership, heading back towards the rear cargo hatch to check on the removal of Shego's hovercraft which was being unloaded there.

For what seemed like a thousand years, the two opponents stood and stared at each other across the concrete floor of the hanger—

Then Shego started to walk with slow deliberation toward Kim, who felt herself tense even tighter.

Shego came to just within the distance of reach before she stopped. The two of them stared . . . emerald eyes to emerald eyes—

Then Shego cocked her head to one side and with a nasty smile, "nice hairdo princess. You and the loser just finish screwing each other's brains out in a back room. Is he half dead back there with double the normal goofy grin on his face?"

Despite everything she could do, Kim felt her eyes flare and her teeth grind together.

Shego's smile grew wider as she savored the hit. "Still playing nice huh? Afraid that daddies gonna sequester you to some orbital platform in a galaxy far far away? My my, you should take charge of your sex life princess or your boyfriend is gonna turn into a queen—"

"Shego—" Kim started—

Shego cocked her head back in the other direction. "Are now you asking yourself 'why did I come here'? I could ask you the same thing Kimmie but I figure that I already know the answer—" Shego's head then dropped forward, her eyes going angry and deadly, her voice a hiss. "You wanted to see if I had changed any. You wanted to see if my desire to help in trying to get Drakken's head straight had gotten my head straight. You wanted to see if your saving my ass from the Assholes in Black had caused me to become suddenly kinder and gentler. You wanted to see if our little 'talk' from before had 'turned me from the dark side'!"

Kim felt herself turning red from both rage and embarrassment as she realized just how stupidly transparent she had been. All along she had been ignoring those little voices inside of her. The sudden lightning strike of reality revealed just how stubborn and naive she had been to even think—

Kim in that moment realized just how completely reversed her feelings and priorities had been. What had she been thinking when she had literally forced herself to believe that Shego could have somehow changed while she had steadfastly refused to believe that Bonnie could as well? In that glare of reality that now flashed within her, Kim Possible was forced to face a seed of true honesty. She knew that she had wanted Shego to change . . . if for no other reason than she might very well being able to take credit for 'turning her arch enemy to the good side'. At the same time, she had been doing the opposite with her former high school foe, trying to force that situation so that Bonnie could not change. The selfish, self-centered reason, as she had already admitted to her boyfriend was her need to satisfy her feelings for revenge. But now she was shocked to find just how deep and primal that need had been, the results showing in how badly she had misunderstood, misinterpreted and misrepresented even unto herself, where her true priorities should have lain.

Kim in that flash of insight now realized; Bonnie had been High School evil and that could be changed or one could grow out of if she wanted too (which Kim only now had to grudgingly acknowledge that Bonnie did seem to want too). Shego on the other hand . . . Bonnie had become evil through evil circumstances in her life. Shego was evil because she liked/wanted/had intentionally become so!

And the underlying reason for her faulty estimation was that Kim had within herself, basked in her victory over Shego during their confrontation in the Possible guest bedroom. It had given her a feeling that she could forcibly exert some kind of control over Shego—

And how euphoric and powerful that misplaced feeling had been!

But the Shego before her now was not injured, was not drained and depleted, was not weary, lost and depressed—

This Shego was recharged, healed, fit! And she was dangerous . . . for Kim could _feel_ the anger, shame and loathing that her enemy had within her, festering inside her ever since that day weeks ago.

"Shego," Kim started again.

And with a sharp wave of the hand, her enemy silenced her again. "Don't! This time I'm gonna talk and your gonna listen sweet cakes."

Kim's mouth snapped shut and given her own internal warring, confusion and hesitant embarrassment, it was all she could do to glare at her enemy.

Shego took a step back and seemed to take a moment to prepare—

"Messing with peoples heads is a very dangerous business young lady . . . because you never know, when you might cause something that you will oh so later regret . . . " Shego's tone and gaze was rock hard and it was all Kim could do to not want to take a step back.

"And someday," Shego continued, her tone going liquid helium, " . . . you're going to more that regret it baby cakes!" Then Shego did a snap turn around, her entire tone/look changing to one of harmless/mindless prattle as she spoke to Kim from over one shoulder.

"You see Kimberly, you really really upset me during that meeting of the minds we had. Simply put, I would have killed you and ground your skinny little body into mashed yuck if I had been able. But unfortunately I was not able to do that. But—," and Shego skewered around into another pinup like poise. "Afterwards, after I regained consciousness, I had a lot of time to think about our little 'coming to an understanding' and I came to the conclusion that killing you would be too quick and easy an outcome for you. That led me to a whole BUNCH of other thoughts—,"

Now taking an easy stance with arms folded in front of her chest, eyes now staring off into space over Kim's head. "Now I will admit that what you said about my just hanging around in a state of not-giving-a-shit was maybe somewhat of a correct one. But it occurred to me that I really really had a good time being my own boss, having all that control, having things done _my_ way and seeing the handsome results of my efforts paying off."

Shego then looked directly at Kim with a very questioning look. "Tell me . . . how does . . . 'The Supreme One' sound to you?"

Kim blinked, then shook her head as if to clear it. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

Shego spread her hands wide open as if the answer was a gimmie. "Isn't it obvious Princess? I've been playing sidekick long enough. With Doctor D out of the picture, I'm at a loss for lackadaisical sidekick employment. But with my experience as being a boss, I think I'll take a crack at taking over the world."

Kim's jaw almost hit the ground. "What—"

But that was all Kim could get out for Shego picked up right from where she left off. "Think about it, a world under my firm control. Everyone doing my bidding. Hey, hey, how about this for a tag line, 'you don't have to think, The Supreme One does it for you'. That'll be an instant classic. And I'll do away with all the bickering over fashions and taste and civilization—"

"Wont work Shego," and it actually came from Kim's lips with a snarl.

Shego stopped and looked at Kim as if surprised. "What??? Won't work??? Now why would you say a thing like that?"

"Because Ron and I will stop you!"

A _very_ impressed look came over Shego's face. "Now you surprise me punkin . . . I didn't expect you to include the loser in that oh so predictable statement—"

"Ron and I are a _team_—"

Now a _**VERY**_ satisfied look came over Shego's features. She shook a pointed finger at Kim to emphasize her point. "You know . . . you are exactly right. Remember at your house when the two of you were trying to . . . what was it . . . debrief me about Drakken and his plan and I conceded how you two always seem to win, that you guys were a team." Then Shego lowered both her voice and her eyelids, saying in an almost sultry mode, "I don't know if you noticed my noticing, but I saw the matching rings you two were wearing. That made me aware that even the boyfriend/girlfriend thing had moved on to something much more serious and that you two were becoming a team on more levels than I cared to think about."

Kim then felt a shudder run though her as Shego's look turned cold and hard. "And there lies the difference in _my_ plan to take over the world sweetums. I completely and totally recognize that before I do . . . I have to take Team Possible totally and completely . . . and permanently . . . out of the picture."

Kim felt a hard lump in her throat, making it difficult to ask, "what do you mean?"

The careless, carefree Shego was back. "The way I see it, there are three options. Break you two irrevocably up, kill one of you or kill both of you."

Kim's mouth came open out of pure shock and she started to snarl—

But Shego's hand snapped up in a 'halt' as she spat, "hey, I said that I was gonna talk and you were gonna listen."

Kim GLARED, her teeth grinding as Shego continued. "So in reality, that's four options, break you two up, kill you both, kill you Kimmie or . . . kill little Ronster—"

Kim started to growl but Shego rode right over it. "But as I think about it, there really are only _two_ options . . . or is it really . . . only one?"

It was all Kim could do not to leap at her enemy even as she grated out, "what do you mean?"

Shego gave Kim a wink. "You need better writers oh anorexic one. You've repeated that same sentence how many times now?" Then that pale face turned to a cold hard smile. "Think it through red. You really _really_ pissed me off when you played your mind games and I couldn't fight back. And I _want_ my revenge for that. And you being dead when I take over the world would be too quick and easy an out for you. So that leaves breaking the two of you up and being that you two are apparently bound at the hip . . . even though it seems that the two of you can't seem to get your crotches together—"

Kim actually started to snap a fist out—

Shego lit her plasma—

Without actually hearing it, Kim heard Doctor Director yell in the background somewhere causing her to restrain herself—

Barely—

Shego's look was now that of death itself as her plasma died and her tone a snarl, "I've been having more fantasies princess. And remember . . . I work _very_ hard to make my fantasies come true. In one. I infect Ron with a potion that makes him leave you and madly love me. I'll love him back alright . . . I'll love him to _death_. Or how about this one. I maybe come up with some kind of spell that brings him and that Rottwhiler slut together. Unlike you she would really screw his brains out and with a _lot_ more experience!"

"You bitch—!" Kim managed

"But that's okay," Shego hissed back. "I will most definitely/probably/certainly do something like that . . . but with that strange luck of his . . . he may be able to somehow work out of such a gag. So in order to be completely sure of the outcome . . . in the end . . . at the final outcome . . . I'll just have to kill him!"

Kim was at that instant right in Shego's face, every fiber of her being screaming even if her tone was low and frozen, "even _think_ about doing _anything_ to Ron and I will _kill_ you!"

Kim Possible was more than startled when a huge grin spread across Shego's face.

"Glad to hear you say that princess," and there was a tone of gleeful triumph in her enemies tone. "Because that's _exactly_ what I wanted to hear."

Kim backpedaled a step or two away, looking at Shego as if she was insane.

Her enemy looked insanely angry. "This is _my_ revenge for you thinking that you can undo what life has done to me, for you thinking that you could ever make me _good_ again. Kimmie Possible, I am going to ruin you by 'turning you to the dark side'.

Kim, open mouthed, shook her head in disbelief. "Your mad," she whispered.

"Damn right," Shego snarled back. "I'm mad as hell for you making me look at things that I had safely locked away from the light of day. WHY DO YOU THINK I'M EVIL BITCH! BECAUSE I COULDN'T HANDLE THE RESPONSIBILITY OF BEING GOOD, OF HAVING FRIENDS, OF CARING FOR FAMILY, FOR CARING ABOUT—"

Shego _slammed_ her whole face down on her tirade. Only after a moment was she able to continue in a horse, strained voice.

"I know you're wondering . . . or what you will be wondering . . . is why am I telling you all this? Why am I giving you my plans in advance where you could have a chance to prepare a counter attack or devise defense plans—"

Shego's eyes came back open, the emerald gone, her eyes almost black in her hatred.

"At some point, in three weeks . . . or three years from now, I'm going to do to Ron Stoppable what I did to you. I'm going to destroy his life, try to make him leave you or you throw him out . . . and then I will kill him. And from now until then . . . I want every moment of your life . . . asleep or awake . . . to be worry and terror about the next mission, the next phone call, the next text message, the next girl he meets in a hall at school or college . . . anything and anyone could be my agent . . . my pawn . . . and you'll never know—"

"I will KILL you first!"

This time the smile on Shego's face was grim. "You seem to actually mean that punkin . . . good. I hope you can back it up. Because that's the other part of my plan. The other part that I want you to think about very very carefully about until that shocking moment when it happens."

Shego reared her body back as if a cobra pulling back to strike. "Everything you've ever done, from rescuing some poor slob to winning a fight against a villain to working your way out of an escape-poof trap has really _convinced_ you that you can do _anything_! But you've _never_ been in a situation where you couldn't disarm or knock out or take out your enemy without them being overwhelmed by your physical skills or some fancy gadget that little geek made for you or the Losers strange luck or where whoever you were fighting was taken out by a secondary explosion or _something_ that kept the situation from rising to the ultimate level."

Shego's black eyes now glittered with a combination of hate and malice. "You threaten to kill me; hah! You don't even have any concept of what that really means or what you would have to do to do it. Well little princess, I'm gonna give you that opportunity."

"Can you KILL princess?" and Shego's tone was that of rage and death. "You say the words but have you really thought about it? Blood on your hands! Death by your name! The willful premeditated homicide of another human being!"

Shego's eyes got even narrower as her snarl turned to a tone of gleeful disbelief. "I _**know**_ you can't do it! You're _weak_ girl. You're so sure of your ability to take out any foe alive that you don't have a _clue_ as to what happens _when you can't take them_! What then Kimmie? What happens when the chips are down and brutal, deadly _violence_ is the one and _only_ resort! You don't have the _guts_ to do what your saying . . . you don't have the _balls_ to KILL . . . and I'm betting that you wont when that time . . . when the time and place and situation I create . . . comes."

Shego's head cane back forward, her eyes and pale skin looking like a skull of death. "I will create a situation where you wont have the geeks gimmicks or the Loser's luck or _any_ of your other fallbacks or abilities available. It'll be me and you sweet cheeks. And the only way out of it will be for you to kill me . . . and I'm betting my _life_ . . . that you won't be able to."

Shego abruptly changed to a perfectly calm façade, "of course at that point, you just could do nothing at which time I would just have to kill you because you weren't playing the game right—"

Shego then slowly turned her back to a stunned, speechless Kim, talking once again back over her shoulder. "Don't you see the beauty of it princess? I'm going to take your little loser boyfriend away from you . . . and then I'm gonna kill him. After that, with Team Possible safely and permanently out of the way . . . I'm gonna take over the world. The only way you're going to stop me . . . is to kill me. You and I both know . . . that you wont be able to, so I'll win—"

Shego then turned her head all the way around so that her dead eyes again fell on Kim. "But then again, I could be wrong. My snuffing your little Ronnie-poo just might _piss_ you off enough to do just that! So here's _my_ fallback. Think about it honey buns? You actually manage to _kill_ me. Where would that leave you?"

And an evil chuckle escaped Shego's lips. "Get it Kimberly Anne . . . if somehow you do manage to kill me . . . I'll still have won. For Ron will be dead . . . and you will be as good as. For with him gone . . . and my blood on your hands . . . you wont be able to live with yourself—"

A frozen smile. "So either way . . . I win."

Shego then completely turned her back to the dumbfounded teen, a clear sign of total hate and rejection. But as if she was throwing her voice, Shego's words came crystal clear to Kim's ears.

"Starting thinking now princess. Get together with the geek and that hellion _bitch_ of a mother of yours . . . and that ancient fossil of a grandmother . . . and start planning. Start brainstorming! Every 'now what', every 'what if', every 'but what about', every 'do you think she could'. Think about it all. I want you _crazy_ when I finally push the go button. I want you ready to jump in 360 different directions with 720 plans. Because I'll be expecting no less . . . and I intend to have a plan in place to _fuck_ with every one of your plans so that . . . " Shego's head turned just enough to allow one gleaming eye to be visible. "you wont be your usual calm, cool, controlled, steady self. So think about _all _of it princess. And be ready to pull your hair out. Cause I intend to be a puppet master. I'll be safely somewhere far away pulling the stings as I destroy your love and his life . . . before using one of those stings to pull you too me for our . . . final confrontation."

There was a long pause as Shego seemed to watch Kim for a moment out of that one eye. Then as Shego once again turned her head away, the villainess said quietly, "so don't let any other baddie mess you up Kimmie . . . . . . you're _mine_!"

Shego squared her shoulders . . . then . . . in a very quiet voice added, "You have to admit punkin, it's a good plan. I take out the strongest part of Team Possible from a distance . . . and then take you out."

"Wha—" was all Kim managed to get out.

Shego's voice now had that evil chuckle back in it. "Surprised? Don't you see it yet or is Wittle Wonnie still hiding that from you as well? The luck? That hidden yet monstrously focused determination . . . all those other powers that are slowly developing in him if you only had the eyes to see—"

Kim's mouth had gone desert dry . . . she was convinced that both her heart and lungs had stopped.

"Ron Stoppable is the dangerous one Kimmie . . . and will become more so as time passes. If for no other reason . . . than he would never hesitate to KILL me . . . right now . . . where I stand . . . if I had given him the same speech. When he comes into his own . . . _**I**_ will fear him . . . and we can't let that happen if I'm gonna take over the world now can we?"

Then, with another sudden bewildering change of mood/attitude, Shego gave a gay offhand wave with one hand. "Ciao princess. Be sure to be there when I have all the Club Banana's turned into Club Shego's."

Kim Possible could only stand there, struck dumb and frozen as Shego walked serenely over to her waiting hovercraft. The villainess climbed in and fired the engine up. It went into hover—

Shego turned back to look at the pale, frozen teen across the hanger floor, yelling cheerfully, "by the way sweetums, I sincerely want to thank you for keeping your word and making the others keep theirs thereby keeping me out of the hands of the AIB's and allowing me to get out of here. Tell your Nana that the lemon-squares were delish—" and at that point, Shego floored the hovercraft which shot out of the hanger doors into the rain, disappearing into the low clouds.

Kim let her shoulders and arms droop with fatigue and defeat.

Anguish and fear clouding her damp eyes—

"Oh dear God! Now what do I do?' she wondered so fiercely it was almost a prayer.

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The tapping brought Ron abruptly awake . . . but not even close to conscious. He leapt from his bed, flashing about the room in a smooth flow of a half a dozen kata's as he tired to determine just where the enemy lay (he had been dreaming about a zillion little Diablo's stealthy stalking him . . . well, not really _him_ . . . but the dozen naco's he was transporting in his backpack to the latest summit of world leaders)—

The only problem was that he was still totally wrapped up in his blanket and by the sixth kata he was so tangled that down into a heap he went.

"Huh?!? What!?! Where?!?" was all he was able to get out prior to an emphatic "offf!!!"

Ron stayed still for a moment, trying to fathom what had just happened—

The there was another tap on the window—

"Aee—" he started.

Then Rufus pulled the blanket off of his head, chattered very angrily at him prior to bounding over to the window next to his bed where with another angry chatter, the Mole Rat pointed to the frosted glass.

Ron would know that shadow anywhere.

"KP," he breathed. What in the world was she doing at _his_ window at this time of night . . . and _all_ of the answers were bad. Ron had wanted to go with her to watch her back during the release of Shego but Kim had been firm as to her needing to go alone.

So many thoughts flashed through Ron's mind as the tore himself out of the blanket and over to the window.

"KP," he whispered as he opened it, the icy air rushing though as he pulled the window wide. Kim slowly climbed through without answering him, and that froze Ron's insides almost as much as the chill air did. In the darkness he could see none of her features . . . but he knew her too well.

Kim was in and Ron was closing the window—

Then Kim's arms were around him, crushing his with a desperate strength. He hadn't even heard her take her jacket or mittens off, but she had for her could feel her thin body shuddering with sobs—

Kim had such a tight hold on him that he almost couldn't turn around within it to put his own arms around her. But he managed it . . . as well as trying to get enough air back in his lungs to croak, "KP, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Please Ron," and his insides went colder still for she sounded . . . it couldn't be right . . . terrified?

"Please Ron," his girl repeated, "don't ask me any questions! Don't ask me _anything!_ I don't want to talk . . . I _can't _talk! I can't do _nuthin_" and her voice trailed away as she started to squeeze him harder—

"Please Ron," and his love . . . sounded . . . ruined? "just hold me! Please just hold me! Don't let go . . . don't _ever_ let go—"

"Sure KP," Ron managed—

And he didn't—

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A/N: The characters of Mr. & Mrs. Smith are the sole property of Twenty Century-Fox Film Corporation.

The situation and contents of this story are mine and are intended solely as recreational and for the enjoyment of myself and other fans.

Almost three years to reach this point. I never had any idea. I'm not sure I would have done it if I had.

For there is only one more chapter ladies and gentlemen. And the next one is it! It's been a grand ride. So please, be patient for the next and final chapter

Titled appropriately—

What She Can't Say.

I can't say thank you enough.

Until then—

I Will Remain As Always

Your Humble and Devoted Servant

The Wise Duck


	49. What She Can't Say

Slowly Kim came awake . . . and with the realization that she was awake . . . she crushed herself harder to Ron's torso—

Which was followed by another realization—

Ron's torso was _very_ unsubstantial—

It felt like . . . a pillow??

Kim cracked one eye . . . fearing the unknown of what and how . . .

The sudden disoriented surprise and apprehension was realized as she . . . for she . . . was in her own room . . . in her own bed . . . but . . .

Her last memory . . . was sniffling into Ron's shoulder . . . snuggling tighter into his chest . . . as he pulled the blanket of his bed over the both of them . . .

How . . . ?

Then _both_ of Kim's eyes snapped wide open, her head jerking up out of the folds of her pillow as something else very suddenly registered—

—that there was _sunlight_ outside of her window—

_WHAT TIME IS IT?! _Every Alpha Female/Honor Student cell in her body screamed._ IT'S GOTTA BE PAST NINE!! I'M LATE FOR SCHOOL—_

Kim heaved herself completely over in her bed, rolling over to face her closet, trying to untangle from her sheets/blankets, glancing at the clock on her nightstand, not really wanting to see the bad news that it would tell her, all the while trying to keep from screaming out loud even as she forced aside the complete confusion as to how she gotten back into her own bed—

Her glance at her clock pulled her up short, her eyes snapping back to it to see—

Although it really wasn't her clock itself that did it . . . but the propped notepad in front of her clock . . . with two short sentences in huge black 'marker' type letters proclaiming—

'**YOU ARE HOME SICK!—NO BUTS YOUNG LADY!'**

Kim was frozen for a moment, then she kind of cowered back down into her sheets/blankets.

There was no mistaking her mom's handwriting . . . nor the implied feeling that her mom was 'cranked' at her. With a flash, she realized something else she hadn't . . . she hadn't considered the possible consequences of her seeking out Ron in her need. Had her mom, worried when she hadn't come home, called Ron in the middle of the night looking for her—then Kim's features crinkled in thought—how did her mom get her home without her waking up?

Wrapped in a robe, Kim descended her loft stairs to her bathroom, her heart in her throat, her head swiveling like a top as she warily looked around for her mom, wondering if her mom had gone ahead and gone to work or if she had stayed home because of her—

Just thinking about it all . . . on top of everything else that was stressing her. After finishing in her bathroom, Kim came down the downstairs hallway into the front entry foyer rubbing her forehead, wincing against the pain of a rapidly growing headache. Kim also winced at her now in-knots insides as she headed down toward the kitchen, dread filled anticipation blossoming in her middle—

The kitchen was to her surprise . . . empty. Had her mom really gone to work . . . it didn't seem likely to Kim . . . but . . . –

"Mom?" Kim called out—

"In the living room—" came back the reply . . . a carefully neutral reply Kim's suddenly steel-banded tight insides told her.

As soon as Kim, after walking through the dining room, came around the fireplace, she felt her mom's piercing look skewering her brain—

Anne was on the far end of the long couch by the front windows, her laptop was open on the couch in front of her and with slow deliberateness, she closed it as her daughter stopped at the steps where they dipped into the living room proper.

Kim felt both reluctance and . . . a little bit of relief as she detected worry/concern/love in her mom's gaze. But still she hesitated—

"Kimberly—" her mom said softly, inclining her head toward the couch next to her. So Kim took a deep, shaky breath before meekly going over and placing herself in the designated spot.

There was a lloooonnnnnngggggggg silence.

But Kim broke it, being unable to take the stress/worry any longer—

"Did Ron get into trouble?"

Her mom raised one eyebrow . . . that was enough for Kim to sense just what she thought of her daughters too-late appreciation of the fallout from her actions.

"Ron," and again, Kim's mom's voice was carefully neutral, "apparently agonized over the situation for a considerable amount of time. He was worried sick over you but he knew that he had to do something, both for your benefit as well as being able head off and deflect problems with his mother over his girlfriend 'climbing in a window in the middle on the night and sleeping with him'. Ron got Rufus to get his knockout lip-gloss container out of his mission pack—"

Kim unconsciously rubbed her nose, only now realizing why there was a lingering smell there that reminded her of the girl's locker room (she would _not_ think of Wades fathers socks-nor at this point contradict her mom because Wade had made a 'male' version for Ron that looked like lip balm).

Kim also felt guilty dread when she prompted for the other shoe to fall.

"Ron went and woke up his mom, telling her up front what had happened, he then called my work cell," and an annoyed narrowing came to Kim's mom's eyes, "at exactly two thirty in the morning. I came and got you . . . and no, I don't think your father was aware of what happened."

Kim felt a stab of relief over that fact . . . but . . .

"So . . . " and Kim was afraid to complete the question but there was no pay in avoiding it. "Is Mrs. Stoppable really mad?"

That got her a very . . . measured and careful look from her mother , , , followed by— "That kind of depends. Mrs. Stoppable of course was not happy at all . . . but . . . Ron conveyed to the both of us just . . . how upset you seemed to be—"

A gentle look then came to Anne's eyes. "What happened with your meeting with Shego?"

Kim told her . . . repeating as much of what Shego had said verbatim as she could remember—the thought coming to Kim as she did so, that it was like describing the worst nightmare that she had ever had. Kim found that she couldn't even look at her mother while she related the tale . . . especially when . . . she left out almost all of the part about Ron's "all those other powers-slowly developing-only had eyes to see", "Ron-is the dangerous one", "he would never hesitate to KILL", "_**I**_ will fear him". Kim wasn't sure just why she left that part of it out . . . or why she couldn't look at her mom—

When Kim finished, she at last glanced at her mom, only to be shocked and surprised to see that her mom wasn't even looking at her, but was staring out of the window next to her.

"Mom? What—?"

Anne sighed heavily, closing her eyes as if tired. "nothing . . . just wishing that I had . . . " Anne then shook her head as if to clear it. "Never mind, not important." When Anne's eyes reopened, she now looked at her daughter with equal measures of understanding, worry, love and resignation. "I think," Anne said carefully, "that you better tell me as completely as you remember it, your 'little chat' with Shego that started all of this."

Kim let out a tired moan and kind of collapsed inward. But her mom's hand was on her arm and her tone was supportive, "I need to understand Kim . . . please?"

So Kim told that story, by the time she finishing it she leaning far back into the couch cushions, eyes closed and wishing very badly for something for her now pounding headache. After completing the tale, she just lay there, too tired/hurting to do anything else, waiting for her mom to continue on.

Her mom let out a long, heavy sigh, followed with, "Ron said . . . you seemed . . . "

"I lost it again mom," and Kim's tone was totally miserable. "I rode back in the Global Justice hovership curled up in a little ball, I don't think I said a word to Doctor Director. I had all that time to think and . . . and . . . " Kim had to stop, feeling herself choke up again, feeling the tears starting to run from her eyes—

She heard her mom sigh again and then say, "you need to calm down—"

It took a moment for Kim to realize . . . that her mom . . . sounded . . . disappointed??

Through the pain of her head, Kim forced her eyes to slit open, to look at her mom—

Yes, her mom looked . . . disappointed with her . . .

"Mom," and her voice actually tremored a little, 'wha—what—what did I do? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Her mom immediately pulled her features straight. "I'm sorry honey . . . I didn't mean . . . . . . well," and Anne flushed, "no, I don't think I'm going to go that route." Her face firmed up and Kim instinctively knew now that she was looking at 'mom'.

"Kim," and Anne's tone was a firm as her features, "I had been hoping very badly that you had recovered enough to handle what has obviously been a much more . . . lets just say 'jarring' incident than you expected. I can see in hindsight the blind spots that I and you and your therapist all probably had regarding this . . . but what's important, and right now it is _very_ important , that you recognize what happened, why you reacted the way you did, why you're _still_ reacting that way and _why_ Shego did it."

Against the pain in her head, Kim forced her eyes wider, causing a wince which Anne saw—

"But first, I can see that we need to get a handle on the other factors that are contributing as well—" and with that Anne stood up, reaching out a comforting hand to her daughter—

So in a little while, Kim was feeling somewhat better. An analgesic had cut some of the pain in her head, aromatherapy candles had taken out another big block of that same pain as well as calming nerves that had been more jangled than she had realized (or had been willing to admit). She was reclining on the self-contained 'massage' couch , soothing music was playing in the darkened corner of the Possible family gym.

"What did you lose Kim—?"

Kim's brows folded from the sudden question breaking the spell that he mother, who was sitting quietly in a chair right next to her, had tried to hard to create—

But . . . now would be the time to . . . for Kim knew that she was in a much better position to answer—

And if she actually put some _thought_ into it . . . the answer really was so simple.

"In her organized attack on me," Kim answered in a flat voice, "Shego took my sense . . . my need . . . my crutch . . . for total control over everything in my life away." That was followed by what could only be described as an ugly growl, "and yesterday . . . she did it to me again."

Kim could sense her mom's approval even before her mom spoke. "From all appearances she did a pretty good job of it too. Just how did she do it?"

Kim had to consider this for a period, trying to find the concepts/words that would best describe—

"The way she 'forced' the points of her plan onto me. She manipulated my feelings . . . my buttons I guess you could say; my need to make plans to counteract hers, to have any and all the details worked out, my fallbacks ready and in place. Even though she was saying it in a sarcastic way, she was . . . 'programming' me, 'forcing' me . . . my—my unconscious unalterable, driving _need_ not to have anything left incomplete or not done to the absolute best of my ability—" Kim grinned sheepishly, "my therapist has been giving me a real hard time over that." The grin went away and the thoughtful look returned. "Shego was setting me up to . . . as she said it, be 'crazy' because I would have pushed myself past the breaking point again—"

"Wanting, needing, _having_ to take charge of the situation," her mother said softly, "controlling the situation and carrying the situation through to a successful conclusion against any and all odds . . . in other words—a born leader. Unable to turn away from that situation, unwilling to pass it on or delegate it to another . . . evidence of something like—can't resist a challenge. Bound by morals and ethics that are so deep seated that they control life without thought and demanding tests against even the frightening and the unknown . . . and indication that maybe—driven to excel? Accepting nothing less then the top, everything absolutely _perfect—_"

Kim held up her hand. "I get it mom. 'A born leader', 'can't resist a challenge', 'driven to excel' and the last is 'perfectionist' . . . quotes right out of the Animology chapter for Blue Fox." Kim looked grumpy. "You didn't have to lay it on so thick. You sounded like Shego—"

Her mom smiled. "Sorry. Part of my Teal Cat personality." That got an almost humorous snort out of her daughter. Anne's face fell back into its 'mom' mode as she added, "but you got the point?"

"I thought I was already making the point—" Kim was still grumpy.

"Different point," her mom said firmly. "I'm not talking about the fact that as you said, in an amazingly simple and straightforward manner, that Shego was able to manipulate and 'program' you to the point of 'crazy'. I'm making the point as to _why _she could do that, why it was so simple for her and why was she able to do it so thoroughly in that short a time and in that setting?"

Kim's eyes looked up at her mom. Anne could see that the wheels were turning . . . and that two and two were still coming back 3.14—

"Shego just spent _how long_ learning _everything_ she could about you with the intent and from the aspect of _psychologically_ reducing you to a cheese burrito! Something she could eat alive! And you had . . . what . . . twenty minutes to probe her psych under much different, uncontrolled circumstances when you confronted her in the guest room? And I'm afraid to say; in a very amateurish way which left a lot about Shego undone and unsaid." Anne looked hard at her daughter and said firmly. "Shego just hit you straight up and with full force with psychological warfare as hard and sure as it can be. And right now, Shego holds _all_ the ammunition in that battle. Especially considering _all_ the other mental landmines your dealing with right now honey. So the first thing you have to do is _calm down_ and try to go back and look at it with a little of you old clear headedness and self confidence!"

Without a word, Kim leaned her head back into the massage-couch, closed her eyes and—

A long quite time passed—

"Mom," finally came the low, unsure voice, "d—do you think . . . do you think Shego . . . does she really mean to—"

"I believe," was Anne's firm, no nonsense reply, "that Shego fully and completely intends to do _everything_ just exactly as she described it." And there was a pause before a lower, softer, gentler, "I also believe that as long as you don't play her game, as long as you plan and 'what if' to a realistic and reasonable point . . . "

"Mom," and the reluctance in Kim's voice could almost be physically felt. "I—I know that it has to be absolutely insane . . . . . . but I still think . . . that there is good in Shego." Kim's eyes closed tightly as she shook her head. "I admit that I don't know squat about psyching someone—but I can't believe that everything I saw and felt when she broke wasn't some kind of reality, some kind of truth about how she felt—"

"Why do you think she's so mad . . . no . . . enraged at you," her mom countered. "Didn't she say it herself? You made her 'look at things that she had safely locked away from the light of day'." Her mothers voice turned firm, "Shego might have been dangerous before—but now, she's more than dangerous—"

"There's got to be a way to save her mom?" Kim was almost pleading.

Her mom waited for several moments before, "if there is . . . I'm afraid that I don't know it . . . short of getting her confined, professional help and probably a _lot_ of narcotics. I wouldn't even try—"

"I have to try," Kim's voice was small and flat when she said this. "I opened the door to Pandora's box, I cant just let her—"

"You can't do anything about it honey," and again her mom's voice was firm but also understanding. "In trying to do so, you could only make matters worse than they already are. You're going to have to let this one lie."

Anne waited for her daughter to respond to this . . . and after way too much time, she took in a long, slow, tired, apprehensive and resigned breath for Kim obviously was not going to follow this logic. Anne could only hope to try again later to reason with her daughter. It was not something that she was looking forward to doing.

"Anyway," Anne continued, reluctantly sidestepping the issue for now, "as I was saying, you're going to have to start to gear up to meet this challenge . . . and the best way to do it is the same thing as you have always done, you're going to have to rely on . . . yourself . . . and Ronald . . . both of your skills, abilities and the rapport you two share just as you always have—"

"But what if Ron is under some kind of control," and that came out almost as a frightened wail. "What if he can't control himself? What if he 'can't' be there watching my back?"

"There are protective measures we can take," Anne told her reassuringly. "When we all sit down and start to work on this, we . . . " and Anne's voice slowly trailed off as she noticed the _new_ look which had come over her daughter's face—

"Kim??" her mom said carefully, "why are you looking that—" and Anne cut it off when her daughter suddenly turned her head away.

But Anne Possible knew her daughter all too well . . . which was part of the sudden problem because she couldn't believe that Kim could possibly be thinking—

"We _are_ going to tell Ron about it . . . about Shego's plans . . . we _are_ going to tell him?" and Anne made her tone as reasonable but forceful as she could.

Kim didn't answer . . . which gave the answer.

"Kim—" her mom stated—

"Mom," and her daughters soft _pained_ tone stopped her, "I know that . . . it's probably okay for . . . friends . . . but . . . lovers or . . . life partners . . . should they . . . keep . . . secrets from each other?"

Something long simmering inside of Anne suddenly clicked and with it came sudden but complete understanding. Taking a very careful tone with her daughter, Anne, gripping herself internally against the minefield she knew she was stepping into, "there is . . . something . . . going on with Ron isn't there." That was rewarded by Kim slowly turning her head back to face her, fear and need and questions blazing from her eyes.

"I've . . . seen some things myself," Anne offered in explanation. "Like Ron having a very particular reaction to a statement that was made during the conference on Felix's condition. I . . . attempted to pin Ron down afterwards on why he reacted the way he did . . . and all I got was . . . goof . . . and the sense that he was really really nervous about my asking. Which . . . coming from Ron is a solid clue anyway." Anne sighed but her eyes never left her daughter. "I also suspect something considering . . . what happened with Ron and Bonnie or would it be . . . between Ron and Bonnie . . . and the fact that I couldn't get _any_ kind of an answer out of Ron as to just exactly what happened between the two of them. but I . . . I guess you could say I was lulled off of the trail by all the other 'mysterious' healings that were going on all over the city . . . which," and Anne shook her head slightly as if she was having a hard time accepting what her instincts/intuition was telling her, "could I be thinking that all that was a diversion put on by _somebody_ as to take the 'eye' off of Ron—" Anne's eyes focused back onto her daughter. "There's something going on with Ron that is . . . unusual . . . and he's definitely not talking about it. In fact—" and there was another little nod of Anne's head as she put another clue/fact into place in her mind, "he's keeping it a 'secret' from you for whatever reason . . . because you've seen things . . . maybe more than I have or can guess about—"

"He scares me sometimes—" and Kim sounded miserable in making that confession, "and no more so than now because—" and again Kim's voice trailed off.

It took a moment or two for her mom to make that connection. "Shego has seen or noticed it as well," and Anne's tone was grim. "Maybe with more knowledge or observation based on her prior background/past experience/broader life experience than you have had . . . she's maybe even guessed or has seen or been involved somewhere or with someone else that gives her a special insight . . . " and then the other shoe dropped in Anne's mind—

"And . . . _that's_ one of the main reasons she's going to try to do away with Ron. She thinks that in time . . . he's a greater threat to her than even _you_ are."

Anne sat back in her chair, her mind racing through all the implications and possibilities . . . but her train of thought could not be carried through because—

"How did Ron acquire these . . . does he really have some kind of special . . . some kind of experiment by Drakken or Dementor or DNAmy that didn't manifest itself until later?"

"I don't know—" came her daughters voice, flat and lifeless, "he wont tell me . . . and . . . that hurts . . . "

Anne blinked, bringing herself back to the present and her daughter. "That's obviously the secret he's keeping," she observed.

"One of them," Kim said dejectedly.

That raised Anne's eyebrows. What other secrets could or would Ron have to hide from her daughter/his soulmate. Anne realized that this might be a part of the barrier that Kim's therapist was having a hard time breaking through . . .with both of the teens.

Anne wasn't a trained therapist, but she had years of experience dealing with the trauma of her patients and their families, years as a parent of several very special children—

"Even if Ron is keeping things from you," Anne said in a gentle but firm voice, "you can't think of keeping this from him Kim. All of us need to work together to be ready to recognize an attempt by Shego to start her plot."

"Ron will _**FREAK**_ if we tell him that Shego intends to kill him," Kim hissed back.

Anne nodded. "Probably . . . but with his resilience, he'll get over it. Which is a lot better than your _**FREAKING**_ over any or every girl who ever approaches him." Then in a firm tone she added, "and considering that we're talking about his life, you can't let your anger over his keeping secrets from you make this an opportunity to get revenge by keeping it a secret from him."

"_**MOM!!**_ And Kim was up/off the couch stalking away—

"Get BACK here young lady!"

Kim stopped in front of the hallway door . . . but she didn't come back or even turn around—

"Lovers . . . life partners, couples who intend to become joined in marriage should not have secrets from each other," Anne's voice was sad, but it carried a ring of painful truth. "But the reality of life is such that often, as you have so recently found out in so many ways, we have to make compromises, sacrifices and let things go that otherwise we would not. Your father has . . . as far as I know, no secrets from me . . . but he was . . . a computer/techno/rocket scientist/nerdish/clueless/socially deprived GEEK when we met . . . and to a certain extent . . . he still is. And I will admit that that might have been a _lot_ of the attraction for me, after so many years of _my_ life living in a world that while you know so much of it, you've only recently gotten a taste of what its like to live in it . . . day by day."

Anne hesitated . . . but at this moment, for her daughter, she could not allow herself to stop herself. "I on the other hand started out my friendship with your father, my engagement and the first sixteen years of my marriage, with more secrets than what's in the bottom of the Pentagons vault. There . . . " and she closed her eyes in pain. "there are still several things which your father does not know. Some of them I probably could tell him . . . but I suspect . . . after some of his reactions in the past . . . that he would handle it . . . badly." Her eyes snapped open and her voice was pointed. "But Ron is not your father! He has experience in this world of ours and understands much of the need and the reasons why. Yes he will freak! He wouldn't be Ron if he didn't! But have you thought about his reaction if he finds out later that you _didn't_ tell him?"

"Mom—I" Kim managed to start but couldn't finish because of her own confusion, her own guilt, now that what she had contemplated only to herself was out in the open.

"If Ron can't tell you something," her mom rode right back over her, "there must be a DAMN good reason for it! And you're not telling him something this serious for whatever reason you _think_ you have—"

"I—I" Kim stuttered, shaking her head as if denying it even to herself—

"Yes—" Anne's voice was now flat and lifeless like Kim's had been earlier, "it hurts not to be able to be totally honest with your father. Do you have any idea how much it hurt when I told you and Ron about my life before I met your father . . . knowing that _he_ didn't know any of the 'gory details' that I told the two of you . . . and I did that because I really believe that he couldn't handle it?"

"And," Kim heard her mom's voice go _very_ soft, "I am willing to bet you on _both_ of our lives . . . that Ron's not being able to tell you whatever it is that he is hiding . . . hurts him ten thousand times worse than what I feel in regards to your father. And how much more he will hurt . . . if you don't tell him something like this."

"Mom," Kim sounded almost desperate.

"Ron," and Kim realized that her mom was 'lecturing' her like she was a little girl again—which only drove Anne's point home even harder, "would only hide something from you if someone he holds as dear as he holds you, required him to. It may hurt . . . but his reason is honorable. _You_ on the other hand want to keep a secret that involves his very _life_ from him because you're _mad_ at him for keeping a secret from you—"

Kim's head dropped. "I am not!"

"Turn around and look me in the _eye_ and say that!" her mom challenged her—

Both of them knowing that she couldn't. Both of them knowing . . . that what Anne had said . . .

Kim's head dropped all the way down to her chest in shame. She knew that she was sooo busted. She _KNEW_ what her mother was saying was the truth . . . she knew it as well as she knew how to do a forward flip. But like so much else right now . . . she had been denying it.

"Kim—" came her mother's soft voice from behind.

Reluctantly, Kim turned and looked back over her shoulder at her mother, saw the love, saw the concern, saw the desire to help—

Kim also saw that her mom was holding back from that last—

And she could guess the reason why—

"Yes mom," Kim's reply was as soft as her mother's question . . . but it accomplished its mission . . . which was to let her mother know . . . that it was okay to—

Help—

"Honey," and her mother's eyes were . . . just the tiniest bit damp in thanks that Kim had opened this door for her. "Like I said, you need to calm down. You need to step back a little, regroup and take a look at this whole emotional disaster. You can _not_ keep going with your emotions and nerves torn in ten thousand directions and ways. You need to prioritize what's important and I _know_ you can do that, and start tackling one problem at a time. And your biggest problem is—?"

Kim slowly turned toward her mother, her head dropping back down toward her chest as she did so. But instead of shame, this was a position of exhaustion.

"I . . . I . . . " and the reluctance was thick in Kim's voice. But with a sudden rush she moved over the bridge that had been so frightening.

"I . . . I need to let go of my anger." And Kim's shoulders slumped. "All the anger that I'll admit to, like towards Bonnie and Shego . . . and all the anger . . . that I won't admit to . . . like what I feel towards Ron . . . "

Anne's head nodded just perceptibly. The therapist had hinted (it was a fine line the therapist . . . and Anne had been treading. Anne might be Kim's mother . . . but she was also her physician and towards her daughter and almost son-in-law Anne had to walk a delicate balance between her daughters and Ron's rights to privacy and her need to be able to properly care for the both of them) that this was a major blockage that was keeping Kim from making as much progress as she should be toward the acceptance of all the evil events of recent days and the healing of her psych.

"And why are you angry toward Ron?"

Kim snorted and kind of threw her hands around helplessly. "He won't tell me what his big secret is. He won't explain these strange powers that he has, how he got them and where they could lead. He's insisting on helping Bonnie recover and put her life back together."

Anne waited . . . and when Kim wouldn't drop the other shoe, Anne was forced to—

"And??"

Now Kim's chin did drop all the way to her chest. Her reply was barely audible. "Shego's scared of him! And I . . . and I . . . " and Kim stammered to a halt.

"You're jealous of Shego thinking him a bigger threat than you are," her mom finished. Kim just nodded.

"And??"

Kim's shoulders slumped even further. "He's . . . stepping up. He's . . . doing things that need to be done, taking care of them on his own . . . like talking to Shego or . . . or (big sigh) doing what is absolutely the right and good thing by helping Bonnie . . . and what he's doing he's been successful in and . . . and . . . and I guess I'm just a little bit . . . defensive about it . . . "

" . . . . . . and??"

Kim's hand came up and rubbed her temple where her head was starting to throb again. "Ron . . . put his . . . life . . . on the line with the thing with the hovership. I . . . I . . . I . . . "

"What you mean," her mom said with a soft but firm tone, "is that it was perfectly alright for you to kill yourself when you thought Ron was dead. But your angry at him for attempting to sacrifice his life for the common good when he thought you were dead . . . you're very angry at him over that—"

Kim's whole body sagged; she was just barely able to manage a nod of agreement.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Anything else?" Anne asked.

Kim just stood.

"Kimberly??"

Kim actually _mumbled_. But the room was quiet enough since Anne had used the remote to turn the music off when Kim had tried storming out.

"I know that Ron . . . wants us to make love together as badly as I do . . . but he won't tell me who he's promised . . . so that we could go to that person and try to change their mind."

Anne waited all of three heartbeats—her thoughts going back to the discussion with the therapist. . . and the inferred guesses that were passed along. "And why are you so angry with Ron over all these issues? Why are you having such a tough time addressing them?"

Anne watched as Kim slowly sank down until she was sitting on the floor, kind of wrapped up in a tight little ball with arms down around drawn up knees, memories striking Anne for Kim looked all of seven again and was in the position she would assume when she knew she had been very bad—

But Anne didn't push it. She somehow knew that Kim was finally where she needed to be. So Anne waited . . . if Kim wanted to talk . . . she was here. If Kim wanted to work it out for herself . . . Anne knew that her mere presence gave her daughter support.

After what seemed like several hours—

"Mom?" came the quiet question.

"Yes honey," was the loving/supporting answer.

"C—can I . . . change me . . . and still be me?"

Anne nodded in understanding. "You're not changing you sweetheart," was the firm knowing reply. "You're changing the way you act toward and think toward people. I don't think any of us, including your therapist, Ron or myself, knew or understood just how badly . . . damaged . . . you were when you felt that you had . . . lost control of your life and tired to compensate by over controlling what little was left to you. As much as we all might like to, life controls life, we can only make our own decisions towards it. As much as you might have been able to at the time, you have and never really did have any control over Shego. Bonnie is not yours to control. And—"

Anne took a deep breath before she took the final plunge. "And, while it seems that you have either influenced or had what seemed to be outright control of so much of Ron's life, there is no way that that could have continued, especially once you two moved beyond friendship."

"I can't believe," came Kim's totally miserable voice, "that all my anger at Ron, all of it that I wouldn't even admit that it existed, was because I felt that I was losing control of him." An almost snort escaped her. "I thought I had him in the palm of my hand. He would do anything I asked, anything I wanted, anything I told him to do . . . . . . and all the time . . . . . . it was as if I thought that he was doing all that because I told him . . . instead of the reality which was that he was doing it all, even those things that he didn't want to do . . . because he . . . loved me."

Kim's head finally came up and Anne could see the sorrow and remorse in those wet emerald eyes. "Like when Ron defeated Gil the first time at Wannaweep, Ron asked if he could call the shots on a mission and I told him that it was 'ferociously unlikely' even though he had just done an amazing job taking care of the situation. I couldn't even conceive of him ever taking the lead in something—"

"Keep in mind," her mother admonished softly, "that most of the time, Ron is perfectly content in letting you lead. But that may change, or there may be a situation—another mission or event that forces that change. And you have to be ready for it if it does. And this is a yes to your earlier question honey, you have to change that part of you, or at least, reach a compromise with yourself and probably with Ron. I know that you trust him with your life. He's 'got your back' and always has. And he seems to be content with that. But—" and Anne got up out of her chair and came over to kneel in front of her daughter. "But," she repeated even more softly, "is it fair to the both of you, let alone the rest of the world . . . if you intentionally relegate him to that place when there are times and situations when the two of you may be shoulder to shoulder or he may even be out in front—"

Kim's eyes narrowed. "Mom—this is Ron we're talking about."

Now Anne snorted. "Listen to yourself—"

Kim's eyes fell. She sat thinking under her mothers gaze for several minutes before, "I know—" Kim admitted in a guilty tone. "I admit that I'm jealous about Ron and the attention he's gotten. That he maybe has something happening to him that might even make him better than me—"

"Kim—" and Anne put her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "Right there is another part of the problem. Nothing that happens to Ron is going to make him better than you. It's simply going to make him different. Your competitive nature can not and should not influence your feelings toward those who are not and are never going to be competing with you. And it's not like you can expect Ron to remain the same as when the two of you first went to Mr. Paisley's to take out the security lasers."

After a moment, Kim nodded to the truth of this. Her head dipped down a little—

There she remained for what seemed to be the longest time. Anne stayed with her as well, trying to send all her support, love and understanding to her daughter through those hands resting on her daughter's slumped shoulders.

Then, Kim's head gave another small nod.

Anne then felt Kim's shoulders pull up and she released her grip, moving back to give her daughter some space. Kim whipped a forearm across her eyes before bringing them up to look at her mother. Anne's breath kind of stopped in her throat, not knowing if she dared to hope that she could now see just the tiniest bit of understanding and determination lurking in her daughter's eyes.

"Thanks mom," and Kim actually managed a little smile when she said it. "I think . . . " and Kim's eyes dropped just enough to break contact as if she was still unsure or embarrassed, "I think, if you don't mind, I'll go back to my room. You've given me some things to think about and . . . " now her head did drop a bit more, "and I need to do it before Ron comes over to see me this afternoon."

Anne nodded and held out her hands to her daughter who did not/could not resent the gesture—her mom helped her up onto her feet.

Anne's eyes blinked wide as Kim suddenly wrapped her in an intense hug—

"I love you mom—"

And before Anne could respond, Kim broke away . . . and was out of the family gym without a look back.

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Kim sat on her bed, staring down into her lap, so many thoughts coursing through her. In her lap was her mother's old laptop which had been replaced several times over by newer, more capable ones. But after that slip by Wade in regards to his reading her diary on her regular computer, Kim had gotten her moms old laptop and had shifted all of her 'personal' files into it.

Here was her life from her point of view. Here was her triumphs and tears. Here was her memories and hopes. Here was _her_ fantasies, the things she didn't even tell Monique (and that was the biggest reason that it was always locked away _inside_ her armored closet with her battlesuit—far far away from ANY chance of her brothers getting hold of it).

Life was change—

Change . . . was life.

Kim was slowly working her way through the photo album of her and Ron—

Watching the changes—

And realizing just what hadn't—what had never changed—

Their care and devotion for each other.

She had already gone through her . . . 'secret file', the place that even she didn't like to admit to herself that she kept. A file of news clippings and video's from the published reports of her adventures and missions, her 'guilty' scrapbook of her life as a hero

Of hers and Ron's adventures and missions—

She had told Shego that Ron was her hero.

Ron would _always_ have her back. Of that she had no doubt. But the idea of him right at her side—bound to her hip as Shego so aptly put it—

But she was oh so mad at him—

For so many ridiculous, juvenile, asinine, _stupid_ things—

No wonder she was still so lost and confused by it all.

And Kim's eyes blinked back to the present, for she realized that the photo on her screen was from cheer practice . . . from the debut of Ron as the Middleton Mad Dog Mascot. Kim saw all the other girls looking on with naked disapproval, and Bonnie front row center with the worst look of all on her face.

Looking back now to their 'clear and honest' discussion in Bonnie's hospital room, remembering how she saw the look in Bonnie's eyes and hearing the tone and conviction in her voice during that confrontation; seeing the fear, the remorse, the determination on Bonnie's face at her court hearing—

"If you can change Bonnie . . . and now I believe that you really can—can I do no less?" Kim whispered to herself.

At that same moment, something her Nana had once said to her suddenly came out of the blue. _The more things change, the more certain things, the really important things, should remain the same!_

Kim nodded her head, and sent a loving phantom kiss to her Nana. She then looked up, her eyes searching for her long, lost and it seemed forgotten Kimmunicator—

"Kim!" Wade's eyes were as big around as dinner plates.

The first real smile in all too long came to Kim's face. "Wade," and his eyes went even wider as the old 'snap' in her voice registered—

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It had taken a ridiculously short amount of time!

Kim could now acknowledge just how 'down' she had been. And while she once again felt 'alive', there was a difference. _This_ was the kind of therapy she needed. And while she didn't have a clue as to how her _real_ therapist would feel about all of it, right now to her in so many ways it felt oh so good. She also admitted that it had taken her mind off of most of her troubles, but at the same time, it had also put a lot of them into a new perspective.

She hadn't forgotten for a moment all the damage and dead of Middleton. She hadn't forgotten or come even close to addressing all her issues or getting over her grief for Justine or Tara. She would still be dealing with her own fears and guilt over her own actions and reactions stretching all the way back to the beginning of Bonnie's and Shego's 'war' on her life and sanity for a considerable amount of time. She hadn't for a moment forgotten about Shego and _everything_ that entailed.

But . . .

Kim even knew and realized that the euphoria she felt at the moment was probably blown dangerously out of proportion and she made a note to discuss it thoroughly with her therapist (if the woman would still talk to her).

But despite that particular piece of anxiety, Kim really believed that telling Wade to bring her site back up and put out the word that Team Possible was back in action—

Kim's biggest worry had been Ron reaction for doing it without telling him first. She knew that if they really were going to be TEAM Possible, that he should have had input . . . and she wondered as well if it had been an example of her still clinging to her fetish that she had to be in control—

But now in hindsight . . . after her and Ron had completed their very first mission in HOW long—

Kim once again snorted to herself. It had been less than three hours after Wade had told her that the site was back up that the desperate request had come in. Ron had just walked into the Possible residence after eating dinner at his house—

Kim had felt so many indescribable feelings when Ron's only reaction was a full-faced grin that she had caught only for a moment of prior to his bolting for the service bathroom where his mission kit was kept!

Kim had noted that her dad had looked . . . almost angry—but she didn't care.

Kim had noted that her mom looked . . . Kim could have basked in her mom's look.

Kim sighed now as she mentally replayed their last hours. How she had missed the way Ron looked in his mission clothes, body once again healed and fit (although how much healing had been through normal medical science and how much through . . . she still didn't want to know). They'd had some rough spots during the confrontation to be sure but no more so than when they had first started doing missions all those years ago. And yes, both were now paying a price of bruises and strained/overworked muscles after way too much inactivity. But that price was a small one willingly paid for the feelings of reward for a job well done. . . and for the renewal of their bonding in a way only they, the two of them, could understand.

It was now early morning. Kim had had Wade call both sets of parents to let them know that they were running way late past their curfew, but southwest Australia was even farther than Tokyo on a school night. But it was fortunate that it really wasn't a 'school night' and Kim at this point in her recovery of self could not think of any other way to spend a Friday night than with her boyfriend kicking some bad guys butt in a country far from home!

Kim had not forgotten just what it felt to lean against Ron in a darkened aircraft cargo hold—but could only now acknowledge just what that feeling did to her.

And although she was hesitant, even frightened by what she was about to do, she didn't allow that to spoil her mood. She wasn't looking forward to what was coming, but she would no longer avoid it either. Her days of hesitation were hopefully behind her. And while she knew that she wasn't completely out of the woods, she thought that she could at least see the light.

She wasn't afraid of tomorrow any more. And she believed that maybe the light she could see, might be the light of tomorrow . . . only time would tell.

Kim waited until Rufus settled into a comfortable sleeping place.

"Ron," and she felt his head rise up off of hers where she had it tilted over one of his shoulders, "I have something to tell you . . . and it's not very nice—"

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Kim felt so much better to have it all out. And Ron's reaction wasn't as bad as she had feared. It had taken only five minutes for his screaming and ranting and raving and running from one end of the compartment to the other. Well . . . three times five minutes because Kim had unburdened herself in three stages; Shego wanting to take over the world, Shego wanting to force Kim to kill her, Shego wanting to destroy Ron and their relationship and then kill him. Kim had expected Ron to be crazy much longer over the last revelation and the fact that he was over it so quickly—

An exhausted, heavily breathing Ron now turned back to her, "what are we going to do KP?"

Kim noted that Ron did _not_ sound as if he was sorry for himself. That pleased her no end.

"I'm not sure," Kim said carefully, waiting now for his reaction to the last shoe to be dropped. "For one thing, at least part of our response is going to have to be based on the amount that Shego fears these new powers of yours."

Ron's back had been to her as he had been leaning against the far bulkhead of the cargo compartment. As she said what she had to say, Kim saw him stiffen upright, his whole body going rigid.

Part of Kim's still damaged ego had wanted to let Ron stew for a little bit—but she realized that if she really loved him, that she had to be 'clear and honest' . . . and considerate and understanding of his limitations and his needs and fears.

"Shego knows something Ron," Kim said softly. "She wouldn't tell me anything but every instinct I have tells me that it wasn't a lie and it wasn't a bluff. And I realize that part of what she was trying to accomplish was to drive a wedge between us by indicating that she knows something, which she very well could, where I know nothing of what has been happening to you."

Kim stopped and took a deep breath before, "I love you Ron, and while it does hurt that there is something that you can't tell me, I understand the reasons why and I applaud them. If for no other reason than it lets me know that any of my secrets are safe with you." Kim's eyes suddenly narrowed and her voice took on a sly/accusing tone. "You know . . . _my_ secrets . . . like what's inside my closet and . . . what else is in my armored closet other than my battlesuit."

Despite the fact that his back was to her, Kim could almost _feel_ Ron's blush. Not even her mom (as far as Kim knew) knew what else was in her armored closet . . . and it wasn't that she _really_ thought that her father or her brothers would go peeping around in those intimate places, she felt it was better to be safe than purple with embarrassment, especially since her loft could not be locked because of her stairs and her mom's old laptop with her diary wasn't the only thing that she wanted kept away from prying eyes.

Ron on the other hand, didn't know which was worse at the moment, his shock/fear of being the target of an insidious murder plot of someone like Shego, shock and fear over the very thought that Shego may have put two and two together after their 'confrontation' in the Possible guest bedroom, figuring out at least part of his secret, or even worse, his own shock and embarrassed embarrassment as his body automatically reacted to the memory of just what he had seen in Kim's armored closet when he had gotten into it to 'secret borrow' her battlesuit during his wrongheaded plan to get onto the Middleton football team. Ron was actually sweating in the cool cargo compartment as he desperately waited for the reaction to run its course and go away—

Of course, it was only worse when Ron tried to literally jump out of his skin when suddenly strong, supple arms wrapped themselves tightly around him—so tightly that he couldn't jump—

But soft, sensuous lips pressed themselves against his neck, causing him almost to melt.

"Sorry," came the whisper into his ear when the lips let go, "but I had to get my revenge some way." Ron placed his arms over Kim's and the two of them felt themselves bond.

"KP—I,"

"Let me finish first Ron," the soft voice continued. "As I said, I do understand why you can't tell me. But we do need to come up with a response for what Shego is going to try. If you can't tell me, then tell my mom, or my Nana or Wade or go right back to whoever taught you all this stuff and tell _them_—I just don't want you taking the whole thing on by yourself . . . which is something that I was prepared to do . . . and which I now admit was oh so very wrong an idea."

Kim lessened her hold on her BFBF enough for him to turn around—

Another level healed, another part came back into balance, another segment of their bond renewed for, for the first time in how long, unencumbered by torn psyches, sobbing grief, raging emotions, raw wounds, binding bandages, numerous physical and mental injuries, prying eyes, listening ears, possible interruptions from closed but not locked doors, Kim and Ron _kissed_ the full deep kiss of true love.

After several minutes of timelessness, the two teens walked back across the compartment and sat back into their seats, still wrapped in each other's arms. "Ron," Kim started.

"You don't have to say any more KP."

"You're wrong," Kim corrected him, looking into his deep brown eyes. "There's been too much that I haven't said or that I couldn't say since the prom—"

"Kim," Ron tried, using her name to emphasize what he was trying to say. "It's not fair to you for you try to explain yourself when . . . " Ron's head dropped, "when I cant."

Kim reached out with a fingertip on Ron's chin, bringing his eyes back up to hers. "Not so the drama Ron. I _understand_ what you can't say. I'm different, because up to now, I didn't understand why I couldn't, or didn't say some things. I was afraid of change Ron. You were and are, changing, growing, maturing . . . and I didn't want it to happen. I wanted you to remain my simple, goofy, weird, clueless, abnormal 'sidekick'. And I was getting angry when you didn't . . . and I didn't even know that I was. That's why I couldn't accept a 'new' Bonnie. That's why I couldn't accept you and her being on the same planet let alone you trying to help Bonnie . . . change, grow, and mature."

Kim turned her head from Ron's eyes and looked sadly out through the bulkhead. "I was only willing to change, grow and mature on _my_ terms . . . when I didn't even have a clue what those terms were." Kim shrugged. "I could do anything so why the drama when it comes to growing up? Life is no big, why worry about it when as long as I play by the rules, keep up my grades, do as my parents ask, obey all the laws—"

"Why don't you just recite the Pixie Scouts oath and laws," Ron said under his breath.

Kim shoved a shoulder into him. "You know what I mean!"

"Yes, I do," Ron said softly, Kim having to blink, then turning her head to once again look into his eyes.

"KP," and one of Ron's hands came to rest on her cheek. "Believe it or not, I get it. That's part of our mojo. You're the upstanding straight and narrow, I'm the never-be-normal. But while I might have to grow up in some ways, others things about me will never change. And the same applies to you. You'll always be my world saving Blue Fox—"

And Ron suddenly took Kim's face in both of her hands. His voice was tight with emotions, "that's why, despite how scared I am right now of Shego and her plots, that I know that I'll . . . that _we'll_ be all right. Because you wouldn't let anything happen to me—"

"Ron," Kim interrupted, "you know very well that 'anything' just happened to the both of us several weeks ago. And," Kim's breath suddenly shuddered, "and . . . if it happened all over again, would either of us acted any differently? I—" and Kim reached out, fiercely pulling Ron into her for a frantic kiss. Moments later she broke the kiss, grabbing Ron into her. "I couldn't live without you. I wouldn't _want_ to live without you!"

"Tomorrows KP," Ron said softly, stroking her long hair. "Just think about all those tomorrows. You can do anything—that means we can do anything. We already have. We've beaten death. In a strange round about way to be sure, but hey, that's always the sitch for us. I can promise you," and Ron gently but firmly pushed his love back so that he could look into her eyes. "I'll make you a one hundred percent promise . . . that we are going to live together to a very old age. Don't ask me why I can tell you," and Ron's eyes now twinkled at her, "because honestly this part I don't understand myself. But something in me knows this."

"Oh Ron," Kim breathed as she collapsed back into him. "I do so want to believe that—"

Ron chuckled. "I know, but the pragmatic Blue Fox has a hard time believing in things she can't see or touch. So that just means—"

"I trust you," she breathed into the skin of his neck, causing shivers down his spine. "If you believe, I'll believe . . . but it's hard considering Shego—"

"Trust to the luck of the Ron Factor," was Ron's answer as he rubbed her back under her hair. "When combined with the Girl Who Can Do Anything, it's an unbeatable team."

"Ron?"

"Yes love—"

Kim smiled. It was the first time that she was aware of that Ron had ever addressed her that way. It sounded oh so good.

"I . . . need to change some of the ways I do things," Kim said. Ron once again pushed her gently back to where she could see the questions in his deep brown eyes. Kim gave him a little embarrassed smile. "Monday morning, Bonnie comes back to school. I'm afraid . . . " and it took another moment to force the confession out, "I'm afraid that I don't quite know how to handle it in order to . . . give her an entire chance let alone half of one—"

"Kim—" Ron started, sounding a little worried and alarmed.

One of Kim's fingers came around and onto his lips to silence him. "I," and now her voice was quite firm, "I intend to watch you, follow your lead, let you show me the best way to deal with it all. Because you have the compassion and the ability to deal with someone like Bonnie . . . especially in this kind of situation . . . and after what she's done, she deserves the best chance she can get."

Ron blinked, clearly amazed . . . almost disbelieving. "You—you're going to let _me_ take the lead??"

Kim gave her love a curt nod. "I think you deserve it, and . . . " a wistful smile came to her face, "and I think I need to let you . . . so that I can get use to the idea in a non-critical setting first . . . before you get a chance to try it during a mission sometime."

A worried look now came over Ron's face. "Kim, you don't have to do that. This thing with Bonnie, I think I agree with that . . . but missions . . . I know that I'm the sidekick—"

Ron jumped/winced as that finger which had been hovering in front of his lips firmly poked him in the sternum. "We're a TEAM Ron!" Kim hissed at him. "And if you're 'promise' comes true, we've got a long life ahead of us to learn and refine exactly what that means." The accusing finger then came up to gently tap Ron on the nose as his loves voice softened with a smile, "so there's no time like now to start to get the _both_ of us use to the idea."

Ron gave Kim his best goofy smile. "Never argue with a Blue Fox, that's my motto."

Kim's eyes dropped a little. "And . . . I'll try to have some faith in my never-be-normal young man and his promise. It's going to be hard trying to figure out just what Shego plans are or how they'll start . . . and I fear that my reactions to what she said, to what she told me . . . " Kim closed her eyes as if in pain and shook her head. "Any call, any message, any girl walking up to you . . . I'm going to need you to be on your guard Ron . . . because I don't want to smother you by leaping every time one of those—"

This time it was Ron's finger that reached out and touched her, bringing her eyes open and back to him. "I promise to scream, jump and use my mad running away skills every time one of those things happen—"

Kim made a face. "Ron—this is serious!"

"Yes it is," he replied gently. "But at the same time, lets not go overboard by seeing Shego in every—"

"But how else could we—?"

"Not a clue KP," he came back. "And we probably won't until we have a chance to sit down and figure it out. But remember our talk on the way out, what you said your mother said; you need to calm down and relax or I guarantee, you're going to work yourself up into the 'craziness' that Shego wants whither you know it or not. I promise you that inside, I am still screaming in my most panicked voice . . . and as that is my part of this team . . . the 'crazy/panicked part, I do not want you horning in on my territory."

Kim flashed him another look . . . but she had to acknowledge the truth of what he was saying. "Alright," she said grudgingly, "but you better set your mad running skills on 'hair trigger' because I want you to bolt at the first sign that something isn't right. I _mean_ that Ron," and Kim's features folded into her 'dangerous face' (only seen once before after kicking Shego into the Diablo control tower) and said, "because if something happens to you and you survive . . . I promise _you _. . . " and now it turned into a leer, "that after I'm done with you . . . you _wont_ be giving me any children."

Ron made a sudden turning motion, one hand raising high with extended finger—

"Check Please!"

Kim 'smacked' her boyfriend on the side of one of his legs—all that got her was a return of the goofy grin.

She grinned back at him, trying oh so very hard to make her anxiety go away—

She did it by looking deep into his eyes—

And the smile on Ron Stoppable's face slowly faded as he found himself slowly being drawn into the bottomless depths of those shining emerald eyes that were drawing him even closer to the girl, the young woman, the life long friend, the deep, bonded love that put her arms around him and drew him physically closer as well.

And then her voice—the sound of which thrilled him down to his very spine—

"Thank you Ron, for so many things. I don't think that I can even realize just how much, and for how many things I could thank you for. You make me so . . . happy . . . and that means so much to me."

"I love you Kimberly."

"And I love you Ronald."

The timelessness of a kiss between two soul mates.

After the kiss, came a timeless period of just holding each other—

But all things come to an end—because there were still things that had to be said. But the two of them continued their close embrace, heads resting on each other's respective shoulders for several minutes as they relished the feeling.

"Ron?"

"KP?"

"Did I ever say that you were the best thing to ever happen to me?"

"I thought that's what you always said about Pandarooooooofffffff!"

Kim's revenge had been a sudden SHARP squeeze of Ron's thin torso with her strong arms.

"Boyfriend now—weird later," came the authoritive order.

"Yes ma'am," he wheezed.

"Ron?"

"I'm all ears . . . because I think everything else is broken—"

Kim in response squeezed him gently, actually rocking her young man a little as she tried to draw them as close together as she could.

"After all this time, I can't believe how good it is to hear you say that you love me. And after all this time . . . only you could understand how much it means to me to be able to tell you that I love you. I want to say so many other things to you, some of which were only a nebulous dream or a unregistered fantasy to the girl that I was for so long, blind and in denial that my one true love had been in front of me all along."

"It takes two to tango KP," Ron said back to her, once again stroking her long hair, something that she was hoping he would realize just how good that felt on so many levels. "I was too afraid to say what I felt for so long as well. I never thought you would ever see me as anything but a friend and sidekick."

Kim stopped rocking, strove to pull Ron into the tightest locked embrace that she could, tried to convey to him with both her body and her voice, just how much she meant what she was saying.

"I couldn't say how much you meant to me Ron, as a friend, as a partner, never as a sidekick even though I did sometimes say it. I couldn't say how much your patience and friendship kept me sane and level through so much of what we did. I couldn't say how much your understanding and your selflessness just weirded me, even though it may have caused you pain when I was dating all those other boys. I couldn't say how much I appreciated everything you did then, even though I didn't let you know at the time that I _knew_ what you were doing. And first and foremost, the way you did it when I had that crush on Josh; you forgave me for locking you in the closet at school, you helped make sure my time was available for our dates, you grinned and bore it when Josh and I were fooling around with—"

Kim stopped when she felt Ron tense at that. In response to his distress she loosened her embrace so that one of her hands was stoking his hair even as his still did hers. It was her sign to him of just how sorry she was that there were certain things that she had done with Josh which Ron, when they reached that point, would not be her first. But Ron knew, and he trusted her with the fact, that the most important event of Kim's life as a woman, would be his, and only his, to have when the time came.

"I can't say," she whispered to him, "how much it means to me, that my lifelong friend, will be my first, and only, and true lover—"

"I can't say," she chanted as she drew her one arm tightly around him again, the hand on his head pressing his head gently into the side of hers, "how much it means to me, that my lifelong friend will someday in the not too distant future, become my wedded husband, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with—"

"I can't say, how much it means to me that you, my lifelong friend, will someday be the father of our children—"

"I cant say, how much I am looking forward to spending a long, long life with you my friend, my lover, my husband—"

"If you call me daddy I am going to _scream_—"

"Ron—" Kim giggled at him as she pushed them apart, totally failing at trying to sound annoyed. She forced herself to stop . . . and now she was gazing into his deep brown eyes. "I love you so very very much."

Ron beamed at her, "despite the never-be-normal warning label affixed to the waistband of my boxers?"

Kim's face turned to a smirk. "That label must have been ripped off during one of the ten gazillion times you've lost your pants—"

Ron grinned back at her. "I could have it tattooed on my—"

"Don't even go there albino-boy," Kim warned, one hand snapping out in a 'throwing away' gesture even as her smile touched her eyes, "any tattoo put on that part of your body will get lost in the blazing glare from your skin."

A smugly superior look overtook the blond boys face. "At least _**my**_ freckles add a distinguished highlight to an otherwise _perfect_ face."

Kim couldn't keep the grin off of her face. How LONG had it been since they had been able to talk like this—

The grin slowly faded from both of the teen's faces. Ron started to open his mouth to say—

But Kim held up her hand, stopping him—

She took a moment, gathering her thoughts—

"I remember," and once again Kim's voice was quiet, brimming with her love for the boy before her, "when I couldn't tell you 'I loved you'. When I couldn't say those words. Well, I can say them now—"

"And I know," Ron countered, holding out one of his hands so that his love could take it and they could be joined, "how much that bothered you. I was . . . scared to show too much affection for you because it was too hard for you to return it . . . without us . . . doing things that . . . " Ron's head dropped as if in shame, "I'm sorry if I deny your needs and frustrate— " he flushed in his discomfort.

Kim squeezed his hand in comfort. "I don't understand it Ron, but I'll wait . . . and I'll shut up about it. It's not easy," and Kim allowed her tone to voice just a little of her frustration, "and I really _really_ hope that you don't make me wait all those years that we think it will be until out wedding."

"I hope not either . . . but in the meantime . . . thank you," was Ron's soft, humble reply.

"I can say Ronald Stoppable," Kim Possible said _very_ firmly, "that along with loving you, I treasure your friendship, I . . . thrill to the way you make me laugh and smile. I . . . celebrate the kindness and consideration that you have toward me, my parents, my brothers . . . and others who may not be so deserving of such consideration."

Ron made a face at her knowing that it was Bonnie that she was referring too. Kim just gave him a helpless shrug saying, "hey, nobodies perfect, especially with a freckled face like that." Ron winced theatrically as he took the hit.

"But anyway Ron," Kim went on, squeezing her boyfriends hand, "The last several months have not been easy. But . . . at the same time, they've made me look at things . . . and look at myself, in a very different light."

Kim dropped her head, breaking eye contact. "A lot of the things I learned were unpleasant to say the least. Having ones faults paraded before ones eyes is so the drama. And I know that there are things that I have to change, things I still have to try to understand so that I can change and things that I have to decide if I should change."

"At the same time," Kim's eyes came back up to meet Ron's, "things have happened . . . to, and between us . . . that I have no regrets over. Yes, there's been pain, yes we've misunderstood, ignored, angered each other . . . and . . . I'll be the first to admit that I in certain ways . . . I maybe even hurt you . . . although I found that in doing so . . . I was hurting myself just as badly. Things happened to us and between us that we regret . . . we've been . . . confused . . . I've been . . . lost—"

"But we've always found each other again KP." Ron's response caused Kim to bow her head as she felt so much run through her at her loves quiet, gentle words.

Kim's eyes stayed closed, her voice choked . . . it was almost impossible for her to be able to say what she wanted—what she _needed_ to say—

But she was the Girl Who Could Do Anything, and Nothing was Impossible for a Possible—

"Ron . . . I love, thrill and cheer the fact that I can finally say to you—I love you. But what I can't say . . . is how much that love lifts me, I can't say how much that love has become the focus and blessing of my life, I can't say how so very much that love has bound me to you and made you the most important thing in my world—"

Kim almost felt light headed when she felt Ron take her face in his hands, drawing her back up toward his face, her sparking, shining emerald eyes coming open, searching for and meeting his deep, steady brown ones—

"You don't have to say anything KP," was all her Best Friend/Boyfriend-Love and Life Partner said.

Their lips met—and afterwards, the warm comfort of closely embraced arms, of gently caressing hands, of heads and cheeks resting against each other—

Those actions . . . said everything that needed to be said.

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A/N: Today is April 4, 2008. The first chapter of this story was posted on May 16, 2005—it's been a long journey.

First off, I want to thank whitem, CajunBear73, Danny-171984, screaming phoenix, PegasusJF, spectre666, Joe Stoppinghem, Samurai Crunchbird, Atomic Fire, Star-Eva01, daccu65 for their many reviews of the last parts of this story and an additional thank you to all the others who sent me reviews, PM's and other comments during it's long history.

Second off, I am deeply humbled (and slightly embarrassed) by my recent 'tie' with Charles Gray for Best Drama at Zaratan's Fannie Awards. I submit that the Master of Mayhem Mr. Gray should have been the better winner, but I am truly touched that many of you thought this story worthy of that award.

Thirdly, I want to acknowledge whom I consider to be the best writer on this site, with the Fannie's to go with it, Captainkodak1, the man who inspired me all those years ago to start on the journey that ends here tonight—right hand salute to you Captain, you're the best!

Okay, obviously lots of loose threads and plots. As it stands right now, there are 10-12 stories, long and short in what will be called, 'Team Possible-The Defining Years'. Considering how long it took to do this monster, I don't have a clue when all those will be done.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this. It has been a joy on my part.

And for the last time for a period

I Will Remain As Always

Your Humble and Devoted Servant

The Wise Duck


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